


Alpha, Beta, Omega

by Kamalika



Category: Derek Hale - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bad Touch, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haphephobia, M/M, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Omega Derek, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Statutory Rape, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, reference to bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 102,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamalika/pseuds/Kamalika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is an omega and he hates it. He also hates the good-looking alpha who is obviously very attracted to him on principle. His life sucks in general and he has his alpha time enough to last one lifetime. It had cost him everything and now he is utterly alone except for his two room-mates. Derek doesn't mind being lonely, in fact he revels in it. He just wants the entire world to leave him the hell alone.</p><p>But the alpha keeps on popping into his life like the proverbial bad penny and maybe, just maybe...Derek has a chance to make it good.</p><p>Well...since it is his life, the fate is sure to fuck it up royally.</p><p>Derek can take it lying down as he is told by the society to do...be the submissive little omega.</p><p>Only he doesn't and all the hell breaks loose!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the door finally breaks down and people barge into his room, Derek is already so far gone that he cannot even tell how many of them are there or if they are his friends or just random strangers. He hopes it is his room-mates, but try as he may, he cannot see past the blurriness of his vision and he cannot hear anything over his own breathing coming out in wheezes.

“Fuck...” he hears someone growl so close to his ears that he winces, curling into a tight ball.

“Fuckity fuck...” the same voice swears again, under the breath and with that there are hands, strong and persistent, trying to pry his limbs open and make him lie on his back.

Derek whimpers but doesn’t relax his death grip on his knees which are touching his forehead, burrowing his face even deeper into his chest.

“Damn...his heart is –”

“I know.” The first voice says somewhat gruffly.

“And his pulse is –”

“I KNOW.” The first voice shouts and Derek, if possible, curls even tighter and basically tries to become invisible.

“Hey...hey,” the voice sounds apologetic this time and the voice is accompanied by gentle touches on his hair and his back, which faces his assaulter (for that is what it seems) and Derek’s back muscle tenses under his plain white t-shirt now drenched with sweat.

“Der...no!” Finally a voice pierces his garbled consciousness and he recognises it instantly.

Erica, his roommate, wastes no time to climb onto his bed and hover over him protectively.

“What is happening to him?” Erica almost growls, to the people who have been trying to untangle him so gloriously unsuccessfully so far.

“He has overdosed.” A new voice says, cool and clinical. “Didn’t know your roomie is a junkie.”

“What!!!” Erica is now tugging his knees away from his chest. “Are you crazy? He doesn’t even smoke you asshole.” She spits at the newcomer.

“Boyd,” the first voice is stern. “It will probably help to be less judgmental and more gentle. He is probably going into respiratory arrest.”

“Derek -” Erica’s voice comes in a low gasp. “Hey...Der –” she is crying.

Derek feels like whining. He wants to, really wants to open his eyes and to put his arms around her and bury his nose into her golden locks, rocking her to comfort like he has done a countless time the stupid girl had broken her heart over some insensitive alpha who was only playing with her. But for his life he can’t. He feels like he will die if he uncurls...and he just cannot expose himself to strangers...to anybody for that matter now.

“Oh for fuck’s sake –” he hears the first voice snap and before he can understand anything he is dragged from the bed and hoisted up, all curled and foetal ball of him, only to be dropped immediately and painfully on the cold floor.

“STILES...” shouts the second voice, horrified.

A deafening silence follows.

Derek feels numb, but he uncurls, finally, trying to feel his hands and feet.

“SHIT.” The owner of the first voice, Stiles, is immediately onto him which makes Derek shrink back into himself again.

“Shit..shit...sorry...Oh my God...killed you didn’t I...oh God...” the voice rumbles on while his hands ghosts over Derek’s head, shoulders, back.

“Don’t.Touch.Him.” Derek feels rather than see Erica shoving the offending hands away. “He doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.”

“I am trying to help...”

“YOU JUST FUCKING DROPPED HIM...IF HE DIES I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU.”

Derek can’t help feeling grateful to his overprotective room-mate.

“Well he must weigh a fucking 200 pounds.” The voice says defensively. “How the hell would I know...” he trails off. What he doesn’t say is that he didn’t expect an omega to be that heavily muscled. If Derek is in his right mind and not struggling to suck in oxygen to his lungs like a dying man, he will have a thing or two to say about that.

“Please,” the voice is pleading now. “Let me help. He will die if I don’t take him to the hospital in time.”

Right on cue Derek’s body began to shiver uncontrollably and a fine sheen of sweat breaks on to his skin.

“Derek...”

“Dude...”

“Hey...”

“Oh God...here it begins...”

Voices drift around him, drowning him in a daze, but he is sinking into the ground. Derek struggles to breathe, but there is no air...his lungs will burst. It hurts. Everything hurts. Erica and other people are trying to make him sit, but he fights their hands away.

He opens his eyes for a last time and is confronted with the blurry image of a head too close to his face for his comfort. Pain shoots between his eyes and his head feels like it will burst. He makes an involuntary sound at the back of his throat.

“Hey...buddy...” the bleary image speaks up, Derek's mind associates the face with the first voice. Derek tries to speak, but no sound comes out. He wants the man to back the hell off.

His heart stutters and starts to beat erratically and his head lolls back.

“No...” The man sounds horrified and his eyes flash crimson. AN ALPHA!

That will be the last thing he remembers.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek is not a fool. He is an omega and he has made peace with his lot a long time ago. Well, maybe that is a lie. Derek never felt at peace to be the only omega child in the household. No matter how many time his mother sat him down to have ‘the talk’ or his father chiding him gently for thinking lowly of himself, he will never reconcile to the fact that he will always be seen as a weakling and one whose very existence depends on the approval of an alpha who will own him, body and soul, one day. 

But even more distasteful than being treated as somebody’s property and to hear others talk about how to be a perfect omega he should learn to cook, to rein in his temper, to tone down his obsession over working out to be a little more...tame and approachable – is the fact that his body goes into heat, without his permission any time in a year.

He knows theoretically it is actually not as bleak and primeval as he makes it out to be. His own father was an omega who was doted on and highly respected by his mother, a powerful alpha, as well as the rest of the household. He knows that unlike the previous century, nowadays all sorts of career options are open for the omegas. Hell, omegas recruited by the army are even allowed in the frontline and known to man fighter planes. The mentality that omegas are sensitive and fragile and therefore are to be kept away from all hardships and just loved and cuddled and worshipped and taken care of...is so backdated that the sentiment is almost laughable.

Still...stuff happens. At twenty-two, Derek is by now almost immune to the stares and the clumsy attempts at courting (the stupid ritual still exists and doesn’t seem like it is going to be banned anytime soon), colourful remarks about the shape of his ass or the length of his eyelashes or the angle of his cheekbones and the worst of all is the stalking.

Derek started working out when he was pretty young. He always had an athletic built and at six feet one he grew up to be unusually tall for an omega. The more lewd remarks he heard and the ass-groping he faced, the more determined he became to fight back and to create a muscle mass that will be able to hold good against a beta any day and probably even an alpha if he is lucky.

But it was still not good enough when the time came.

Paige was smart, beautiful and sassy. Derek was head over heels with the golden-eyed beta and thought he had found his soul-mate and his salvation, until she was claimed by an alpha. Her family was overjoyed with the union for Deucalion, the leader of the pack Enis belonged to was one of the most powerful packs in the entire continent.

Paige had cried her heart out in his arms and the two of them had hidden in a root celler under the ancient nemeton tree.

Talia had found them there after two days. Their eyes had almost gone blind with tears and they were hungry and exhausted, but they had still clung to each other for what it was worth. Talia had sighed and gently but sternly pried them apart. She took them home where Paige’s family awaited her.

Derek had to let Paige go.

He wanted to challenge Enis, trying to lay his claim on Paige in the old-fashioned way, but Talia had locked him up in his room until Paige’s parents left for England where she would be mated to Enis as soon as she came of age, which never happened by the way. 

The news came after seven days. Paige had shot herself with a wolfsbane-laced bullet right in front of Enis.

Derek didn’t blame his mother for not letting him fight Enis or run away with Paige. He knew Talia was afraid for him. A fifteen year old omega was no match for a full-grown alpha. She was afraid for her son’s life.

He blamed himself.

The next heat was particularly stressful and it was during that time that Kate happened.

Kate was - all his nightmares strung together with a red satin bow, and boy it called out to his blood, like a siren. At least, in this relationship, he was not expected to take charge or to fight battles to claim his love. He thought he deserved to be a perfect omega bitch for his alpha for he was sure it was his hands that was on the trigger that killed Paige when he couldn’t protect her when she came to him. He didn’t even know what he was getting into at first. 

When he knew, it was already too late and he was too fucked up to care.

He was sixteen and that was his only excuse.

But not good enough when it cost him almost his entire family.

“Is he going to be ok?” He hears Erica asking somebody. He doesn’t even know if he is dreaming.

“Yes.” A gentle voice answers her. “I mean it will take a bit of time for him to get back on his feet, but he is out of danger, as of now. I really thought we lost this one...especially after...but you know what? It was not my fault. The dude is a walking balk of muscles. I mean how do you even... ”

The voice rambles on and after a while Derek quits any attempt to follow it. It is soft like velvet and it soothes something in Derek, but he doesn’t want to go into it. He racks his brain trying to come up with the name of the owner of the voice, the one who dropped him unceremoniously on the cold floor and invaded his personal space.

“Stiles,” Erica cuts him off. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack.”

Stiles laughs. “You are exactly the same Erica. Being a wolf hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“What about me? Have I changed?” Isaac pipes up.

“Nah...but what is the deal with the scarf?” Stiles sounds like he is grinning. It is sort of...infectious.

Stiles...knows...Erica? Derek wants to frown, feeling protective about his room-mates against the possible overtures from a strange alpha. Both Erica and Isaac are bitten wolves. It is a common knowledge that in the werewolf world, their status is somewhat lower than the born wolves, but Derek has never been the one to bother about pedigree and shit even though he himself is practically a royalty for Hales actually came from a bloodline that once ruled over a vast tract of modern Scotland and you will always find a Hale or two in the corridors of power both in England and in the USA. Derek has never been the one to flaunt his bloodline and he was raised to think everybody to be born equal by his all-American parents.

“I was going to ask the same question about that red hoodie.” Isaac laughs.

“Well...um...” Stiles stammers. “Call me superstitious, but it is my lucky hoodie. It saw me through a few particularly nasty times and I thought...” he trails off.

“Oh my God. Is it for Derek?” Erica squeals.

Derek definitely frowns this time.

Stiles is guiltily silent.

Derek doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know Erica is smirking the way the scent of smugness is rolling off her.

“Shut up.” Stiles grumbles. “He just looked like death itself alright? I was nervous. It was my first day at work.”

“I still can’t quiet reconcile to the fact that you are a paramedic. It is not very...alpha-y.” Isaac smirks. Derek wants to slap him upside the head. This is the exact stereotyping that he hates vehemently.

“Why not? It is rewarding to be able to save people’s lives.” Stiles says simply and Derek finds himself struggling to open his eyelids. He has to see the man who can utter the sentiment with a straight face.

Well Derek is NOT cynical, ok? But he has just...had too much shoved onto his plate so to speak to be capable of believing in the goodness of a person just because they happen to be good.

“Well...you must think it rewarding saving Derek’s life,” Erica is definitely smirking now. “The way you have been hyperventilating all the way to the hospital as you clutched his hand and the way you snarled at the nurse when she was fumbling with the oxygen mask...”

“Well he is special –” Stiles cuts himself off. “I mean he is my first...ok...I mean my first call...I mean...”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that he has a jawline that can launch a thousand ships and that his eyes have all the colours of the rainbow...” A new voice joins in. Derek identifies this as the second voice he heard the night all the hell broke loose.

Erica bursts into giggles.

“Oh my God. SCOTT.” Stiles splutters. “How do you even...how come they allow so many...”

“Stiles...” Scott sounds exasperated and it seems to be a common sentiment when people utter his name.

“Oh yes...your mom. I am not the only people with a clout here that can sneak in –”

“Dude...he is awake.” Scott pokes Stiles.

He indeed is and he is staring straight at ‘Stiles.’

He is sitting in an armchair a couple of feet away while Erica is perched on one arm. Isaac who was standing by the window moves closer and hovers by his bed.  


There is another person, a dark-haired boy, smiling goofily down at him from the foot of the bed.

But his eyes are locked on Stiles who has frozen with his mouth forming a soft ‘o’.

“Der-bear...” Erica straightens up and perches at the edge of the bed. She takes his hand carefully and presses his palm against her cheek.

“Missed you so much.” She sighs with closed eyes. When she opens them, there are tears in them.

Derek smiles at her wanly, but his eyes are again snapped back to the alpha with a buzz-cut who is still sitting in the arm-chair, gaping at him. Derek decides it is a little cute, the open admiration, almost bordering on awe.

“Um...” he addresses the stranger, Stiles, for he is exactly that eloquent.

“Der, this is Stiles Stilinski. We used to go to school together.” Erica jerks her chin towards Stiles. 

Stiles looks like he has woken up from a trance and he rises to his feet. He steps closer and Derek’s nostrils are suddenly flooded with an aroma so potent and luxurious that Derek briefly closes his eyes. 

When he opens them Stiles is standing even closer, but his mouth is still hanging open a bit and Derek again catches himself staring at his lips. He is furious with himself. He is NOT your regular omega drooling over a hot, young alpha even when he happens to save his life, speaking of which...he frowns.

“I am not a junkie.” Of all things, that is what shoots out of his mouth before his brain to mouth filter begins to work and he tries to pry his hand away from Erica’s so that he can clamp it on his stupid mouth.

Stiles’s eyebrows shoot up and...no, he is not smiling at all. If anything, he is looking even more worried. Derek realises belatedly they are thinking if he has hit his head too hard for the man had dropped him...again, speaking of which...

“You dropped me.” Derek accuses.

“You are heavy.” Stiles shoots back and he actually clamps HIS hand on his mouth and looks horrified.

“I am SO sorry. I am...I mean...really I shouldn’t say something like that. I actually sometimes babble whatever comes into my head first. You are not heavy...you have muscles...like serious muscles...I mean not that I have noticed, but who am I kidding...I have noticed...oh my God...I have noticed your muscles like a pervert when you were out cold and that –”

“Stiles...take a deep breath and then try again.” Derek huffs.

Stiles stares at him, amber eyes blown wide.

“You just got out of fucking coma and you are...” Stiles splutters.

“Oh he is always like that.” Isaac pats Derek’s shoulder affectionately. “He comes out all stoic and balanced through a catastrophe. Nothing ever fazes him.” Isaac beams at Stiles who is still staring.

“So...but...so...why...I mean.”

“It was the heat suppressants.” Derek sighs. “I think I took one two many.”

“I saw the report.” Stiles almost snaps at him. “I mean why would you do that?”

“Why would people take suppressants?” It is Derek’s turn to lose patience. “I didn’t want to lose control over my body. I took one first, when it didn’t work I took another and before I knew it, it kind of went out of hand.”

“Hey...what the hell...” An authoritative female voice exclaims from the doorway.

“Mom...” Scott looks at her sheepishly.

“Why haven’t you let me know he is awake?” An attractive dark-haired woman strides into the room. She is wearing blue scrubs and is obviously getting used to giving out orders. “Out. All of you. He needs rest.”

“But mom...I need to take a statement. ” Scott almost whines. Only then Derek notices Scott is in uniforms.

“He has already said what there is to say.” Scott’s mom snaps at him. “He was going into heat. He took suppressants, one too many for of course he was not in his right mind. Now leave him alone.”

Stiles shoots Derek a parting glance before walking reluctantly out of the room.

Well...that was...interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

“No.”  


“No?”  


“No.”  


“No!!!”  


“No.”  


“Guys,” Erica rubs her temple. “Can we move past the monosyllabic denial?”  


Stiles hasn’t even had the time to step into Derek’s apartment when the verbal duel have started. Derek has opened the door, taken one look at Stiles holding a bunch of black roses close to his chest and nervously shuffling from one foot to the other, crossed his arms and simply said - ‘no’.  


“At least he hasn’t banged the door on his face today.” Isaac mutters under his breath from the couch.  


“Jeez Der...let the man enter.” Erica snaps. “Or are you going to stand there forever like a sentinel!”  


Derek moves aside without saying a word. Stiles walks into Derek’s apartment and makes a beeline for the kitchenette where Erica is busy making coffee. He sits down on a barstool and places the bunch on roses on the countertop.  


Derek pads up to the kitchenette lazily, stands behind the kitchen counter and glowers at the roses. Stiles suddenly feels an insane urge to hide the poor flowers before they are reduced to ashes. His hand starts crawling towards them, but he stops with an effort and shakes his head. He is an alpha damnit! Wooing an omega should be a natural instinct. He is far from a blushing virgin, but something in Derek makes his hands sweat in a way like he is completely new to this game. He may be un-coordinated and somewhat chatty, but is universally well-liked and nobody has rejected his advances so persistently before like Derek. And the more the omega tries to push him away the more determined he becomes to pursue him.  


Stiles scratches the back of his head nervously.  


“What do I do! Really. Tell me Derek...what should I do? I have brought you flowers, chocolate, teddybear...nothing works.”  


“Awww...did I break your heart?” Derek smirks. “It could be worse.”  


“What could be worse than getting rejected three times in a row within a minute.” Stiles is absolutely NOT whining. Strong, confident alphas DON’T whine like this.  


“Just think about how you got rejected three days in a row.”  


“Oh my God...you are a giant asshole.”  


“I try,” Derek murmurs in a mock bashful voice and a seductive smile.  


“Christ,” Stiles flails around and eventually hits himself in the eye.  


Derek rolls his eyes and resumes what he has been doing before Stiles’s arrival interrupted him.  


Stiles watches him closely for some time.  


“What are you doing?” Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek.  


Derek looks up from the chopping board. “None of your business.”  


“Oh my God...you are baking an apple pie.” Stiles rubs his hands together gleefully. “I never took you to be a pie guy! That is so adorable.”  


“Shut up.”  


“Either that or you are murdering the apples.”  


“Has anybody told you that you are an idiot?” Derek huffs.  


“Frequently.” Stiles chuckles. Derek’s words should have been offensive, but Stiles does not feel offended. He feels...kind of fond towards the prickly omega and that is never a good sign.  


“Well evidently not enough. Read my lips - you are an idiot.”  


“Guys,” Erica inserts two fingers into her mouth and lets out a loud whistle, startling Derek and Stiles into silence.  


“We are RIGHT here. Stop with the flirting until you are alone.” Erica places a cup of coffee each in front of Derek and Stiles and walks to the couch to plop down beside Isaac.  


Stiles peers at the handsome omega again. He is wearing a cosy grey Henley and sweats. Stiles cannot but feel wonder at the natural grace with which he is moving around the kitchen, methodically chopping the apples and preparing the crust. Yes he is an omega and cooking and nesting should be a natural instinct, but to know it as a dry piece of information and to see Derek working are two completely different things. Stiles swallows and tries not to stare at the sinful, pale, long fingers working the pastry dough.  


“Stop staring.” Derek growls without lifting his eyes from it.  


“Make me.” Stiles answers cheekily.  


Suddenly, it is like something snaps in Derek and he lifts his head and flashes his eyes at him - electric blue - and Stiles rears back.  


“Yeah?” Derek raises his eyebrows mockingly. “Still want to date me?”  


“You have taken the life of an innocent?” Stiles splutters, aghast.  


Stony silence answers him.  


“Why are you not...” Stiles bites down his lip. It doesn’t make sense. Yes, Derek is grumpy and taciturn, but there is no way he is that evil.  


“Go right ahead and ask me.” Derek says tonelessly. “Why hasn’t the RWCB thrown me into the were-jail or better still how have I escaped the inevitable death sentence?”  


Rogue Werewolf Control Bureau controls and 'exterminates' werewolves that go feral or hurt humans or other wolves.  


Stiles looks at the omega standing in front of him with his breath caught in his throat. Everything in Derek, the straightened spine, the squared shoulder, the stony set of the chiselled jawline to the beautiful multicoloured eyes which hold his gaze squarely and defiantly screams to his blood to make him his. The moment he had broken into the room to find an omega white as a sheet and on the verge of a respiratory failure curled into a tight ball on his bed, he had been hit by a smell so overwhelming that his wolf had been tearing at his skin to burst out and lay claim. When the time came he had difficulty to let go of his hold on the unconscious omega’s arm which he had gripped tightly the entire way up to the hospital. It had taken Scott to use a considerable amount of force to pry his hands away so that Derek could have been wheeled off into the bowels of the hospital.  


After that it has just gone downhill.  


Stiles doesn’t understand Derek at all. He is so very different from Heather or Danny and the other omegas he has dated so far, and he is almost nothing like how a conventional omega is supposed to be. Derek had been unconscious for almost seventy two hours. After he came round and started talking, he was nothing but a delightful bundle of snark and attitude and to his surprise, Stiles enjoyed riling Derek up and to listen to his sassy retorts. Derek didn’t appear to be particularly grateful that Stiles and his team had almost certainly saved his life, but that didn’t upset Stiles one bit. He is never good with handling overwhelming gratitude. It is a job and he is just pleased he did the right thing in right time. But what pains him is that, Derek seems to be hell bent on spurning his every advance with as much disdain as possible. As far as the omega biology is concerned this is almost impossible. Physiologically speaking if an alpha werewolf reacts the way Stiles’s wolf is reacting to the scent of an omega, the said omega is bound to react right back and is supposed to be as affected as the alpha.  


Apparently, Derek’s wolf is yet to get the memo.  


And now he has the first glimpse into the mystery called Derek Hale.  


“I am sure there must be a reason.” Stiles lets out slowly.  


“You think I am justified in murdering an innocent?” Derek asks incredulously, anger, rage, frustration rolling off him in waves. Stiles rocks back on his heels.  


“Is that the reason you keep telling me no?” Stiles goes on unheeded and misses or wilfully ignores the gathering storm that is now clouding the beautiful features of the wolf in front of him. It is probably insanity that he feels an almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch Derek, not sexually, but just an assurance, passing on a little bit of warmth, something, anything, rather than seeing him like he is tiptoeing across a floor full of broken glasses. Derek looks and feels like he is in pain.  


Derek stops filling the pie tin and calmly spreads his hands on the counter.  


“I am saying you ‘no’ because contrary to what you believe I am my own person and am not going to be swayed by some hormones in my body telling me to submit to an alpha whenever and however he wants me.”  


“Are your hormones telling you to submit?” Stiles lets it slip before he can control himself. “Sorry...sorry...I did’t mean it!”  


Derek stares at him for a few seconds.  


“Get out.” He grits out finally.  


“But...Derek -” Stiles tries to apologize, to make it right. Screw being a strong and dominating and all-powerful alpha, Stiles is actually ready to go down on his knees in front of Derek. Derek has opened up to him for the first time, even if it is to reject him again, but it is a long way from the casual insults they have been trading so far. Trust Stiles to ruin it with a callous remark!  


“GET.OUT.” Derek says more forcefully.  


Isaac and Erica have fallen silent where they are sitting on the couch. Stiles looks over to them helplessly and manages to catch Erica’s eyes, who nods her head imperceptibly. Isaac will not even look at him.  


Great, now even his friends hate him.  


Stiles hangs his head and walks towards the door. Before stepping out he takes a last look at Derek, who is rooted to the same spot and looking for all the world like a marble statue.  


Cold. Unattainable.  


...  


“Derek,” Erica places a hand on his arm.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Derek shakes away her hand and pushes the baking tray inside the oven.

“I thought you were making it for him.” Isaac rests his elbows on the counter and props his face with his palms. "Why did you chase him away like that?"

When Derek doesn’t answer Erica heaves a put-upon sigh and exchanges a knowing glance with Isaac.

“Der...he did save your life.” Erica says softly. “And he is really a good guy.”

“Yeah man, why don’t you give him a chance.” Isaac says, following Derek move around the kitchen with his eyes.

“I didn’t ask to be saved.” Derek mutters under his breath.

Erica grabs him by the arm, whirls him round to face her and slaps him hard, across the face.

Derek looks at her, slack-jawed.

“Don’t ever say anything like that.” Erica’s eyes begin to water and Derek draws her into a hug.

Isaac leaps up from his seat and rushes to them. He hugs both Derek and Erica and sniffs on Derek’s shirt.

“Don’t ever say anything like that. Ever.” Erica repeats with her face buried in Derek’s chest.

Derek squeezes his eyes shut, tightening his grip on Erica. He has lost his entire family, but has somehow managed to create a new one. He tries to feel grateful in his heart and fails miserably. Still, he has his friends to cling on to and he doesn’t need a stranger to complicate his life, even though his blood boils under the skin when the said stranger’s eyes flicker to his lips stealthily and when he wakes up from the nightmares at night, he uses the memory of the stranger’s scent to calm the mad beatings of his heart.

He will not submit to an alpha simply because he is an omega and is supposed to do so.


	4. Chapter 4

“Fuck -” Derek exclaims and bites down the litany of curses that threatens to burst through his lips, all of which are directed towards his two crazy roomies.  


He cannot believe they have actually been able to talk him into it. 

He tries to think back on the last evening...

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Erica smacked him upside the head the fourth day Stiles was at their door and Derek did not even bother to open it.

After Stiles had pressed the doorbell for about the twentieth time they could hear Stiles’s frustrated sigh from the other side of the closed door quite clearly before he shuffled away. 

“You are just being an obnoxious asshole.” Erica scolded while Derek tried to ignore her by pressing his nose into a book.

“Yeah dude. She is kinda right.” Isaac flopped down beside Derek on the couch, who just gave him a sideways glance and read on.

“Hey,” Erica finally snatched the book away from his hands. “Will you at least talk about it?”

Derek glared at Erica. 

“We do get that you want to put a message across.” Erica ploughed on. “But seriously, at least be a gentleman and thank the guy properly.”

Derek looked away. It was not his fault he didn’t feel particularly grateful for he didn’t think his life was even worth the medical bill. But what Erica said was right. He was at least duty-bound to thank the paramedic even though it was only for doing his job right. His parents had not raised him to be completely uncivilised. Also, whereas he might not take the gifts by the alpha which were so blatantly obvious to be meant as courtship gifts, he could at least be gentler in putting Stiles down. 

The problem was Derek didn’t know how to do that without feeling exposed and vulnerable. He could afford that with Erica and Isaac, letting them see his softer side - for he trusted them so implicitly. But he didn’t trust an alpha who was practically a stranger.

“What about you bake him another pie, since we already ate the one you prepared for him yesterday.” Isaac suggested sagely.

“I have told him that I am not interested in dating or what did he call it - oh yeah - the dude-let-us-just-chill-and-hang-out-with-movie-and-pizza nights.” 

Derek griped. “Now if I turn up at his door with a fucking pie he will get all the wrong signals.”

“That or are you scared he will smell something on you.” Erica said with a knowing smirk.

Derek threw her a withering glare.

“There is nothing to smell. There is no SMELL in the first place.”

“Or he may read too much into your fluttering heartbeat.” Isaac piped up from his side.

“I don’t...you guys...I am NOT into him.” Derek spluttered, his hand raking through his dark hair in frustration.

“Sure Der.” Erica snorted.

“Whatever you say,” Isaac rejoined.

“Stop it!” Derek wanted to bang his head against the wall. 

“We will when you man up and treat him like he deserves to be treated.” Erica said. “You can start with being polite to him in the very least or just saying ‘thank you’. You don’t need to date him for that.”

Derek buried his face in his hands. He knew that his friends were right, except of course the attraction part. There was no way he could feel attracted towards the gawky and somewhat un-coordinated alpha, with long flailing limbs and pink lips...God damn it...why was he thinking about his lips again. Derek scrubbed his face with his palms wishing he could wipe away the image of Stiles gaping at him like a fish when he had opened his eyes for the first time in the hospital.  


That was NOT attractive...nope...not even a tiny bit!

“Ok.” Derek finally conceded with his face still buried in his hands.

Erica was getting ready to launch into another tirade when she was abruptly cut short by Derek.

“Ok?” She looked at him incredulously.

“I will thank him with a pie and all just as I promised.” Derek finally removed his hands and looked Erica. “And I will throw in a note also,” he added grumpily.  


“Well...I see a ‘but’ coming from a mile away.” Isaac muttered.

“BUT I don’t want to see his stupid face.” Derek said. “I hate his rambles and I hate the way he is always flailing around and I hate -”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Isaac put up his hands in air. “There is a suspicious amount of hate right there.”

Derek kicked Isaac on the leg.

“Ok...I think I have an idea.” A slow and evil grin spread on Erica’s lips and Derek should have known, from experience, nothing good would ever come out of it...

So here he is, carrying a freshly baked apple pie in a brown paper bag, between his teeth. His hands are busy elsewhere, namely in climbing up the drainpipe of Stiles’s apartment which is in the third floor of a tall building like a fucking spider monkey at night so that he can quietly slip his offering along with his message at his place without having to face him.

Erica and Isaac are standing guard at two different points at the road so that they can warn him in case Stiles arrives all of a sudden and he has to make a hasty retreat.

He holds back curses again as his clammy palm slips from the corner of the window ledge the third time. He promises to himself this is the last time he will let Erica talk him into doing anything. Fortunately, he manages to hold on and push his body upward without falling and breaking his neck.

Finally, Derek reaches his destination that is the window of Stiles’s apartment and slides it open slowly. The room is dark and quiet and it smells overwhelmingly of Stiles. Derek can make out a medium size bed in the middle of the room, a huge bookcase and a computer table set against the wall. Crouching at the window sill, Derek inhales and can’t help closing his eyes for a few brief seconds for the sharp longing that suddenly fills his inside, warming up every nook and corner of his heart that he thought had frozen over altogether.

Opening his eyes he clutches the paper bag in one hand and attempts to slip into the room wordlessly and somebody chooses the exact moment to switch on the light, blinding him momentarily. As a result, half of his body tries to hold back while the other half is already in motion and of course his left foot is caught in the window frame as he lands inelegantly on his stomach inside Stiles’s bedroom. Sharp pain shoots up from his foot and Derek knows there may be a torn ligament involved.

Well, physically he is much fitter and in a better shape than a human - what with he IS a werewolf after all, but he is also an omega and so he will never have the effortless grace and raw power that an alpha werewolf possesses.

“Derek?” Stiles squeaks from where he is standing against the wall.

And Derek knows when he is completely fucked over by his roomies.

“You are not supposed to be here.” He whines because his foot...well it hurts like a bitch and he has to bite down on his lip not to whimper when he slowly tries to ease it away from the window.

“I was not...well...sorry?” Stiles offers sheepishly and advances. He has his hands raised in front of him in a placating gesture, like he is approaching a scared wild animal.

The thought makes Derek angry enough to try to stand up.

“Ow...” Derek plops back down on the floor, finding it impossible to put pressure on his left foot. 

“You may have sprained your ankle.” Stiles hovers over him, without touching, thank God, and his voice is laced with worry.

Derek throws a glare at his direction. This is his fault anyway. He grits his teeth, grabs the window frame and tries again, careful not to put his weight on the injured leg. This time he is successful, but Stiles looks like he is going into cardiac arrest simply looking at him.

“Derek please...you need to sit down ok.” Stiles pleads. “I need to take a look at that.”

Derek shoves the brown paper bag unceremoniously into Stiles’s hands.

There.

He has done it and now he can go.

Stiles takes the bag from him. His completely befuddled expression should be funny in any other circumstances, but Derek isn't laughing. If there is a twitch at the corner of his lips, it is just...a spasm. Finally Stiles sees the writing on the bag:

‘Thank you for saving my life and sorry for everything.’

“You baked me an apple pie?” Stiles looks at him, a shit-eating grin stretched across his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” Derek balances himself on one foot, clutching the window frame with both hands for support. “Just to get rid of your visits.”

“And you sneaked into my apartment.” Why is the guy still smiling goofily, Derek thinks exasperatedly.

“Not my idea.” He grumbles.

“So not the point.” Stiles beams at him and points him to a chair.

Derek huffs and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to sit down. He wants to escape from the situation as quickly as possible. Trust stupid Erica to come up with a plan on how he can thank Stiles without facing him and trust her to betray him when the time comes. They haven’t whistled to alert Derek when Stiles has reached home. Derek is going to put up ads for new roomies, starting tomorrow, he resolves.

“Sit.” Stiles says a bit more commandingly. “You are in pain. I can help.”

“It is just an ankle. I can manage to endure the terrifyingly agonizing pain.” Derek says sarcastically.

“Well, good luck climbing down the drain pipe then.” Stiles challenges.

“I am taking that pie back.” Derek reaches out for the paper bag. Stiles clutches it at his chest protectively and looks at him with a scandalised expression.  


“You cannot take back an apple pie after letting me have a whiff of it. Have your smelt this thing? It is like a piece of heaven in a paper bag! Taking it back goes against the I-make-pies-to-say I-am-sorry code.” 

“Well then I quote makers-of-pies-reserve-the-right to-take-it-back code.” Derek retorts.

“Oh my God.” Stiles laughs. “You are such a doofus, doofus.”

Derek rolls his eyes and tries to look annoyed, but there is that treacherous twitch again, in the corner of his lips.

“But seriously.” Stiles sobers up. “Please let me have a look at that ankle.”

“If I let you, will you promise to leave me alone?” Derek quirks an eyebrow at Stiles.

“Yeah I promise.” Stiles bobs his head up and down. “Never to visit your apartment.”

“That includes trying to be sneakily setting up double dates with Boyd and Erica.” Derek warns. Boyd, the other paramedic friend of Stiles has been pretty smitten with Erica. Apparently the way Erica fiercely defended Derek was a turn-on for him and more than once Derek has discovered Erica texting somebody with an uncharacteristically (for Erica) shy smile on her face. So, apparently they are an item now.

The way Stiles’s shoulders droop, it is clear he has been thinking about it.

“Well?” Derek smirks.

“OK.” Stiles sounds completely defeated. “I promise.”

Something tugs at Derek’s heartstring when he notices the way Stiles’s face loses all light, but he tries not to dwell upon it. He finally lowers himself into the chair indicated by Stiles who slips out of the room, leaving him somewhat confused and wary while returning within moments with a bandage. Before Derek can make any comment, Stiles sits down on the floor and takes his left foot in his hands.

Derek hisses in pain as he touches the area that is sprained and is already swelling up. An omega heals at a much slower rate than an alpha or a beta. So he will have to suck it up for a couple of days at least.

Derek studies Stiles as his fingers curl around his injured foot and he gently touches the swelling to leech away the pain. Stiles’s eyes are closed and his long lashes are fanned against the pale, high cheekbone. His lean physique and the ridiculously cute buzz-cut make him look much younger than he really is. Derek knows Stiles is of the same age as he is from Erica and Isaac, but he never knew any of them from school because they went to BHS while Derek was studying in the prestigious Wolf Academy a few miles away from Beacon Hills, that is until the fire happened and he dropped out of it.

Derek’s eyes flutter shut as the warmth from Stiles’s fingers travels upwards and he feels like a layer of darkness peeling away from his heart as the pain of his ankle eases up. Derek wants to hit something for he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want an alpha sitting at his feet, holding his injured limb like he is something fragile and will break easily if handled too roughly and wrapping up his ankle tenderly with a bandage. He doesn’t need the sense of false security it provides for he knows it is a lie.

People whom he feels safe around always tend to leave, or worse.

Derek wants to snap at Stiles and snatch his foot away from his gentle hold, but then he opens his eyes and sees the softened expression on Stiles face and for the life of him every harsh word just dies in his lips.

Stiles is completely engrossed in his work, securing the bandage expertly and easing away the pain at the same time and then he looks up at Derek as he feels his stare.

The look in Stiles’s open face is that of pure adoration and for a second or two Derek forgets to breathe. He strains his ears and while his hearing is in no way comparable to an alpha or a beta, he can still hear Stiles’s heartbeat if he tries hard as well as his own.

And both are going double the normal speed, in tandem.

Derek suddenly realises he has leaned forward without thinking and that there is barely a few inches gap between his face and Stiles’s. From this close he can see each black fleck of his warm brown eyes now blown wide and can trace the moles on his skin down and down where it disappears beneath the collar of his uniform shirt.

It is so easy to close the distance...it seems like the easiest thing in the world and the most natural. Stiles is looking at him like a deer caught in headlight and his scent, God, it is sending a tingling sensation down his spine and Stiles looks like he is deliberately holding his breath, watching Derek with startled eyes, waiting...

Anticipation and arousal - thick and heavy smells clog his senses. Yes, even he can smell it, and therefore it must be really strong. And the most interesting part is that they are emitting from him as well as Stiles.

Anticipation and arousal...smells last associated with Kate!

Derek jerks back suddenly, the abrupt movement making Stiles flail at bit. Seriously, how it is possible that this kid is an alpha, but Derek knows how there is a strange beauty even in the awkward movements and the fact that he understands it suddenly makes him angrier.

“Are you done?” He says in a clipped tone.

Stiles looks at him with hurt eyes. Derek flinches inwardly for he really does’t want to be the one responsible for putting that look in his eyes.

“I mean, I don’t have all night.” Derek tries for damage control, only realising after he blurts it out that he is making it worse, for Stiles closes down completely.  


With a sigh he rises to his feet and offers Derek a hand.

“Let us take you downstairs.” He says evenly, but he refuses to meet Derek’s eyes.

Derek sends a quick text to Erica instructing her to bring his car right in front of the house. He has parked it a couple of blocks away to be sneaky and now the entire plan seems insanely stupid.

He stands up on one leg, refusing to take Stiles’s offered hand and slowly advances, clutching various pieces of furniture for support or bracing against the wall when there is none. After a long and laborious journey out of Stiles’s apartment and down the common passage during which Stiles is attentive, but pointedly silent, Derek is finally inside the elevator and Stiles tries to step in after him.

“I can manage it.” Derek rasps. “Erica and Isaac will be downstairs.”

Stiles opens his mouth and begins to say something, but Derek has already pressed the button for the ground floor.

The elevator door shuts on his dejected face and Derek just cannot help it.

“I am sorry.” He blurts out, but the door is already closed. He knows Stiles will be able to hear it anyway and so he tries to sound like he means it. He really means it. Stiles has never acted like some of the douchebag alphas he had the bad luck of knowing. Stiles seems to be kind and gentle and considerate.

So Derek is sorry, though he doesn’t know if it is for how he has treated Stiles or for something else altogether. 

With a sigh Derek waits for the elevator to reach the ground floor and clenches his jaw at the thought of confronting his conniving friends.

He is going to fucking murder them and hide their bodies today!


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey man, good to see you are up and about.”

Derek scowls at the dark-haired boy with a slightly crooked jaw and easy smile. He should have known the minute Erica and Isaac started snickering when he informed them sourly that he would have to deliver the order himself, that something was amiss. His regular delivery boy is not available today. Apparently a date night trumps paid odd-jobs.

Derek shoves past Scott McCall to enter into the house without bothering to return the cheerful greeting. Scott is not in uniforms today. He is wearing a plain white Henley paired up with a pair of burnt orange skinny jeans and somehow the odd combination is making him look younger. Instead of being bothered by Derek’s reticence he promptly follows the latter and blithely keeps up the one-sided conversation.

Once inside, Derek pauses uncertainly. It is a simple, but quaint living room with a comfy-looking sofa and a number of couches which have been shoved against the wall to make room in the middle. There are a number of bean bags strewn around as well as a hand-made rug thrown carelessly on the floor and there are more than half a dozen people mostly around his age and some even younger, occupying the bean bags or sprawled out on the rug. A few of them, including Scott, are definitely alphas and the rest are betas. There are even a couple of humans among them. Surprisingly Stiles is not among them, but Derek almost does a double take when he discovers a dark head ducking away and hiding behind a young, angry-looking beta. Mason - he sighs. So this is his date night!

All of them stop mid-conversation and turn to stare at him (except for Mason). One of the humans, a dark-haired boy with an angelic face lets out a low whistle.

Oh joy!

“We are celebrating the two-year anniversary of our pack.” Scott supplies happily. “I know it probably sounds lame, but today is pretty special for two years ago it was the day we all came together and formed a pack and we have been very close since then.”

Derek doesn't grace Scott with a reply but tries to brainstorm where he can deposit the items he has been carrying. The moment he gets a lock on the unmistakable scent of pizzas and other junk food, he starts walking towards the door he hopes to lead to the kitchen.

“Oh, where are my manners.” Scott smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, sorry. Kitchen is this way.” He hurries past Derek and attempts to take the carry bags from him.

“Please let me carry them for you.” 

Derek just pins Scott with a glower, refusing to let go.

“I can manage it.” He bites out and steps around Scott to enter into the small kitchen.

Scott is still hovering around in the kitchen looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Derek feels a bit bad for him, but he doesn’t really know how to strike up a conversation. Derek takes out the cardboard boxes and works up the courage to fill the silence with something, anything, instead of just standing there feeling supremely awkward. He is not the one for small talk and that is why he needs Mason to be the affable delivery boy who will chat up the customers and sweet talk them into placing more orders in near future. Derek chews his lower lip and calls forth his inner Erica who has this talent to blurt out anything in front of anybody. Derek only wishes he can be that fearless while dealing with people. 

‘Open up, Der,’ he can practically hear Erica giggling at him. ‘Nobody is going to eat you, though they may be tempted to.’

Derek shakes his head and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“You have ordered pizzas in an anniversary party?” 

He swears he doesn’t want to sound like a snob, except for that he totally does.

Scott seems happy enough to answer though. “We LOVE pizzas. It is our staple and each of us probably can gobble them down whole.” Then he laughs at some memory. “Stiles once ate two large pepperonis on a dare. Totally destroyed them.” 

“Hey,” Derek looks up at the door where a pretty brunette leans against the door-frame and dimples at them. “So what do you have for us?”

Derek decides to show them instead of answering. He lines up the cardboard boxes on the counter-top and opens the lids to reveal red velvet cupcakes and lemon meringue.

“Oh my God.” She claps her hands together and before he can move, stalks forward and enfolds him in a hug. 

“I am Allison Argent. So nice to finally meet you.” She murmurs against his hair.

Derek’s entire body shuts down and goes into the panic mode.

“Dude,” Scott scoots forward, sounding concerned and the girl immediately releases him, feeling him stiffen within her embrace. 

Derek retreats a couple of steps and his back hits the wall.

Shit!

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to even out his breathing. Allison hovers over him worriedly.

“Hey,” Allison reaches out, but Derek just flinches back, trying to shrink away into invisibility.

“What the hell!” He hears Scott exclaim. “Dude, she means you no harm. You are upsetting her.”

One, two, three...breathe in and breathe out...you can do it...Derek...just calm the fuck down...she just shares the same last name...she is not here...she is not...

Derek wants to run away and hide, but Allison is blocking his path. He is trapped!!!

Derek opens his eyes and they flash blue.

Allison’s hands fly to her mouth.

“Oh fuck...” Scott swears.

“I think...” the human girl begins nervously.

“Allison, get away from him.” Scott says.

“But Scott...” Allison’s eyes are huge and she just can’t seem to be able to tear her eyes off him.

“No ‘but’” Scott growls this time. “Leave Ally. Right NOW!”

Allison casts a pained look at Derek but he obeys Scott.

“Will you stop that?” 

Derek realises he is shivering. He flinches at the angry alpha-tone and the wolf inside him wants to cower in the corner. He resists the instinct and fights against it.

“Derek!” Stiles suddenly squeaks from the doorway.

Fucking dandy! 

Derek tries to concentrate on his surroundings once the immediate threat is gone. 

“Derek, what is wrong?” Stiles is immediately into his personal space. But thankfully he doesn’t touch him or crowd him against the wall. Stiles chooses to place himself, deliberately or not, to be at his side and not in front of him.

“Allison hugged him and he went DEFCON 2.” Scott grumbles.

“Hey...” Stiles still addresses Derek, ignoring Scott completely. “Are you ok?”

“I am telling you he is perfectly ok.” Scott almost yells at Stiles. 

“Scott,” Stiles murmurs quietly without taking his eyes off Derek. “Derek has issues with people touching him.”

“Well, I don’t care about the fucking oversensitive omega crap.” Scott says furiously. “Not when I can hear Ally crying and to think this is her first pack meeting after we finally made her parents come round and I wanted to make her feel special.”

“Scott,” Stiles sounds exasperated. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You don’t have to defend me.” Derek says weakly. He has recovered his ability to breathe and he will be damned if he lets himself be mollycoddled by Stiles again.

“I am sorry for that.” Derek ignores Stiles’s protests and pushes off the wall. He stands in front of Scott and meets his eyes squarely. His knees are still shaking and he clutches a corner of the countertop so that his legs don’t betray him.

He pulls out the check from his back pocket and hands it to Scott silently. Scott seems to be a completely different person than when he opened the door to Derek a few minutes ago. Mistrust and anger are rolling from him in waves. He knows what Scott is thinking and his suspicion is confirmed the moment he steps out of the kitchen.

“Dude, his eyes are blue.” He hears Scott hissing to Stiles and for some reason his feet come to a halt.

“No...his eyes are hazel with a bit of blue and green and everything in between.”

“You know what I mean Stiles.” Scott huffs.

Derek doesn’t wait around to hear Stiles’s reply. He almost runs to the front door, acutely aware of the more of less a dozen pairs of eyes boring a hole at his back.

That night he binge bakes...almost half of his grandmother’s recipes. Isaac and Erica, both of whom work night shifts, return home in the morning to find Derek curled into a ball on the kitchen floor with flour all over him and the smell of butter and baked goodies in the air.


	6. Chapter 6

Visiting his uncle in the Eichen House always drains Derek off all energy. Hell, it almost drains all his will to live when he thinks how he is responsible for the hollow stare of his once-brilliant uncle who is completely catatonic now and will not even flinch when an injection syringe is pushed into his skin.

He has one thing common with Derek that is his eyes also flash blue, just like Derek’s. 

When his uncle’s eyes flashed the last time, Derek lost Laura.

Derek and Laura had been to the hospital that day, hoping against hope, upon getting the news that the only other surviving relative they had was finally out of the burn-induced coma.

The Peter who woke up that day was not the sarcastic playboy who was more friend than an uncle, but he was something else altogether.

Laura had knocked Derek out of the way and crouched in front of Peter who looked at them with unseeing eyes.

He was shot down by wolfsbane bullets before he could reach Derek after he had torn Laura apart.

It happened only a year ago and Peter had been like this since he came round.

Perhaps he remembers what he did to his favourite niece and is sorry or perhaps he is completely dead to the world, finally, even though his heart is still beating on for God only knows what purpose.

Derek stands at the kitchen counter and stares into the space.

He has three small orders lined up for tomorrow morning and he is not a morning person. He needs to start with them right now, but he just cannot make himself care.

“If you notch up your glowering at the eggs a bit, I am pretty sure they are going to hatch.” Isaac places his hands on Derek’s shoulder, giving him a light shake and startling him out of his reverie.

“I am not glowering at the eggs.” Derek deflates. “I am making a pavlova.”

Isaac arches one brow at him.

“What?” Derek asks irritably, reaching for the whisk.

“I hope you have something presentable to wear?” Isaac asks, “remember henleys are NOT suitable to wear in a club and we are already running late. Erica is already there.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Derek’s brow furrows as he carefully measures out the egg whites in a mixing bowl and starts whisking them lightly.

“We are doing this little thing called clubbing.” Isaac crosses his arms. “We set up this date almost a month back, remember.”

Derek curses under his breath. He has completely forgotten about it. For his life he cannot remember how drunk he was on wolfsbane-laced drink for Isaac and Erica to cajole him into fixing a date to visit a popular local club.

He had named a random date and didn’t think much about it.

Today is the day and he is just not up to humouring his friends.

“Isaac -” he begins, but his friend has already disappeared into his room to change.

“Remember...no henley.” Isaac shouts through the door.

Derek stares at Isaac's door for a few moments, thinking how best to get Isaac let him off the hook when suddenly his phone starts blaring ‘bad blood’.  


“Erica?” He barks into the phone.

He is greeted with the sound of sniffles.

“Erica, what is wrong?” Derek’s heart is in his throat. Erica is a tough girl and it takes a lot to make her cry. But underneath the badass exterior, Erica is about as tough as cotton candy and she falls in love too easily and way too deeply. Alphas interested in the voluptuous curves and scarlet lips and blond locks fall for Erica hard and fast enjoying a quicksilver romance lasting for one night to a few weeks. Erica is too strong and too proud to let it get to her when everybody assumes she is in for the sex only. She gets her heart broken, way more times than she deserves.

“Derek...” Erica sobs brokenly into the phone and Derek immediately sets his mixing bowl aside. 

Erica rarely calls him 'Derek'!

“Where are you?” Derek demands. 

“You were supposed to be here. Why are you not here?” Erica hiccups into the phone. Derek feels his eyes tearing up in response.

“You are in Jungle.” It is not a question. Apparently Erica thought he would keep his promise and would be in the club and if he would have, Erica probably wouldn’t have experienced whatever had happened with her or at least he would have been there to provide immediate support.

“We are coming to get you sweetheart.” Derek promises. “Just sit tight.”

He knocks on Isaac’s door sharply.

“Code blue,” he yells and rushes to his room to hastily yank off his sweatpants and put on a pair of jeans. He clutches a t-shirt and shoots out of the door, dragging Isaac by the shirt collar who hops after him wearing only one shoe and holding the other in his hand.

Within a minute Derek is starting up his camaro, while shoving the shirt down his head. By the time Isaac laces up the other shoe, Derek has already jumped two traffic signals.

It still takes around twenty minutes to park along the curb in front of the club.

Isaac pulls down the mirror to fix his hair while Derek immediately walks up to the door. He is stopped in front of the door by a burly doorman.

“Unaccompanied omegas not allowed for security reasons.” The man says. 

Derek looks at the car where Isaac is still busy with his hair. He looks back at the doorman, the human doorman, and narrows his eyes.

“It is for your own protection.” He shrugs, unrepentant, with his eyes roving up and down Derek’s body.

Derek grabs the man by the collar and effortlessly jerks him forward until his face is only a couple of inches from him. He flashes his eyes and let the man squirm under his electric-blue stare and slams him hard against the wall. The doorman tries to feebly land a punch in his abdomen, but Derek’s left hand catches it midway and he twists it until the human cries out in pain.

“Seems like I don’t need protection.” Derek says cheerfully as the doorman, who is twice as buff as Derek, squats down, holding his right hand close to his chest.  


Isaac comes up from behind.

“Holy shit, Derek...” Isaac whistles, but Derek is already inside, looking for Erica.

But before he could do that he locates Boyd sitting at the bar counter with his hand draped over the shoulder of a lean and attractive young man.

Derek forgets to breathe for a couple of seconds. It seems his entire existence is summed up in the space between Boyd’s mouth and the ear of the man he is speaking to, making the young man chuckle shyly into his drink. Then his right hand touches the lower back of the other man in a comforting gesture and the other man seems to lean into the touch.

Derek’s wolf wants to claw out of his skin and whimper.

“They are at it for the last half an hour.” Derek jumps as Erica speaks from his elbow. “I am wondering why they are not kissing yet.”

Erica’s tone is hard, but her eyeliner is smudged and she clearly smells of salt tears.

Derek looks at the odd couple again. Boyd is solidly built and has a kingly aura about him. He is completely opposite of the pale, young and clumsy alpha sitting by his side, but somehow they click.

Suddenly Derek feels his entire body is on fire and before he gives any thought to what he is doing, his feet are moving, out of their own volition.

Both the men’s heads snap to him when he is still a couple of feet away.

“Derek?” Stiles sounds ecstatic! But Derek cannot quite process that, not yet, for his eyes are locked on Boyd’s hand where it touched Stiles.

“Hey De -”

Derek lands a punch on Boyd’s jaws and the loud crack can be heard well above the sound of hard rock playing in the background.

“Hey...”

“Der -”

“Jesus Christ...”

Stiles, Erica and Danny whom Derek hasn't notice sitting nearby jump at them throwing themselves between him and Boyd, who looks more shocked than anything.

“Why did you do that?” Stiles whirls on Derek incredulously.

“I think Boyd better talks to Erica to find out.” Derek doesn’t look at Stiles. He doesn’t want his scent to give him away either for what he is feeling right at this moment is unmistakable, insane jealousy.

“Babe? I didn’t know you were here!” Boyd seems quite bewildered to see Erica.

“Surprise!” Erica says scathingly.

“Calm down pretty boy.” Danny grabs Derek’s arms when it looks like Derek is about to lunge at Boyd again. Derek glares at the hand and then at Danny. He immediately releases his hold and backs away, hands in air in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Hey catwoman,” Stiles smiles at Erica and it seems genuine enough. Then he ruins it all by slumping on Boyd and placing his cheek on his shoulder drunkenly.

“What brings you here?” He asks.

Erica looks pointedly at Boyd, who shrugs helplessly.

“We kinda have a date today.” Boyd says sheepishly.

“Yup.” Stiles slurs. “To mourn our fates together.” 

It is finally too much for Derek and he grabs Stiles by the elbow.

“Let’s go.” He tugs at him hard so that he is finally detached from Boyd who for such a big guy seems to positively shrink in his shoes when he is faced with the possibility of being alone with Erica. Derek’s pulse quickens at the close contact with Stiles, but he hopes Stiles is too drunk to notice.

“What?” Stiles flails with his free hand and stumbles after Derek. “Where?”

“In the back alley, where I can murder you and cut you into little pieces and dump you into the trash can.” Derek deadpans while striding purposefully forward. 

“Have fun.” Danny pipes from behind. “And if not, you know where to find me.”

Derek shoots a look back only to see Danny winking at him. He shakes his head and focuses on Stiles instead who is looking at him with a horrified expression on his face.

“For fuck’s sake...to the dance floor dumbass! Why else do people come to a fucking club?” Derek says irritably.

Stiles eyes Derek dubiously. Derek hooks his hand through his elbow and tries to lead him towards the middle of the room where a bunch of people were swaying hypnotically to the music. 

“Nope...nah.” Stiles grinds to a halt at the edge of the dance floor, forcing Derek to stop and face him. “You don’t do dancing sourwolf. It is not your thing.” Stiles cocks his head. “You don’t touch people so casually either.”

Derek looks at his hand which is hooked through Stiles’s and jumps back, as if burned. He takes a deep calming breath, but it does not work. He feels the beginning of something coiling tight in his abdomen and it is not entirely unpleasant.

“Well, I dance. Everybody can dance. It is just a fucking dance.” Derek rambles. People near them stop dancing to cast curious glances at them.  


“Oh I will dance with you if your partner is so unwilling.” A stranger leers at Derek.

Naturally, Derek flips him off.

“Charming.” Stiles comments drily, narrowing his eyes at the stranger, but he finally grips Derek’s hand and searches in Derek’s face for something. Derek is too shocked to react and he lets Stiles lead him through the crowd this time, though Stiles stumbles twice and Derek has to grip him tightly to save him from face-planting on the floor.

“You are going to be the death of me today.” Stiles whispers solemnly and before Derek can answer him, he turns round and throws his hands around Derek, locking his fingers behind his neck.

Derek stands stiffly with his hands balled by his side. Tugging Stiles away from Boyd was an impulsive decision and he took it so that Erica could have Boyd’s undivided attention and they had a chance to talk it out. But he didn’t think beyond that and now he finds himself on the dance floor with hormone-raged teenagers grinding their bodies together all around and a very flushed and very handsy Stiles literally hanging from his neck with their faces only a few inches apart. 

“I thought you wanted to dance.” Stiles cocks his head. The gesture together with the wounded tone makes him look like an adorable puppy with large brown eyes. Derek is suddenly flooded with the wild impulse to scrub his hand over Stiles’s buzz cut, feeling the texture of his hair against the palm of his hand...while Stiles, the big bad alpha boy, leans into his touch, eyes closed in pure bliss...

“Oh my God...do it again...” Stiles closes his eyes and whispers somewhat hoarsely.

Derek snatches his hand away. To his horror he realises he has acted upon his impulse and with the other hand he has drawn Stiles close so that his body is flush against him now.

Stiles opens one eye to look at him quizzically.

“You do a good fish impression. You are by far the prettiest fish I have seen. You can pass as a merman.” Stiles smiles dopeyly, his eyes still heavy from alcohol.

“Stiles,” Derek groans as Stiles tries to sway wildly to the rhythm of the song playing in the background and tries to make Derek move with him. 

Derek starts panicking, but it is a different type of panic altogether. The fluttering inside him seems to increase to an impossible degree and there is this sensation that wants to burst out of his skin. He is feeling too much, way too much than his body can contain and he never knew something can hurt this good. There is this crazy yearning, like his heart is waking up to a new wonder, expanding as it takes in the scent of the man who holds him so possessively yet with such breathtaking tenderness in his large, open eyes. Derek wants to let go of everything that holds him back, he wants to fight and tear at his own flesh to reach Stiles half way...he wants more of it...he wants to drown in the sensation...drown in his scent, in the loving eyes, in the embrace...he wants to hide away from the world. Just one time in his life he wants to feel completely and utterly safe and amidst the loud, blaring music that seems to only torture his ears, under the pulsating light, amidst the strangers half wild and half intoxicated...he feels safe with the man who holds him for his touch promises safety and promises love even when no words are spoken.

Derek leans into the warmth named Stiles impulsively, lets himself be led, by his heart, once again after so many years after he met Paige and is met by a pair of soft lips, almost hesitant against his. Stiles pulls back and stares at Derek pleading with his eyes, asking for permission. Derek answers by brushing his lips once again and the single soft touch kindles something in him that he thought to be lost a long time back. This time Derek deepens the kiss, eliciting a soft moan from Stiles whose hands go up to bury themselves in Derek’s hair. Derek pulls Stiles closer, almost crushing him against his ribs. He feels goosebumps rising on his skin and his breath catches in his throat. He cannot even breathe...it is such a slow and sweet torture...this longing...and he wants more. He wants Stiles’s hands all over him and he wants nothing in between them and he wants to be taken right here on the dance floor...

Derek breaks away from Stiles with a supreme effort of will and his body immediately protests the loss of the comfortable warmth.

He bumps into somebody and whirls round blindly.

“Derek...”

He shoves people aside left and right, earning curses and glares, but he doesn’t care.

“Derek please...” Stiles is trying to follow him through the crowd. Derek doesn’t look back. He doesn’t know how he can want somebody who is practically a stranger with such ferocity. The only answer is his turbulent omega hormones reacting to an alpha.

And it is not good news!

Last time it happened he lost his family and it nearly cost him his sanity.

He cannot do it again.

“Derek...”

Derek finds a corner and clamps his hands over his ears. He wants to block the voice which sounds so hurt that it makes him bleed just to listen to it. It has happened before and he knew the drill only too well. Even then a nagging voice keeps on telling him Stiles is nothing like Kate. He is good and he will never hurt him like Kate did.

Even as his mind is busy with the internal debate, his eyes seek out Stiles’s and their gazes are locked. Derek, for his life cannot look away from him. Stiles sways gently where he is standing, like he is gravitating naturally towards Derek, but is afraid to approach so as not to spook him.

That, amidst the all-round chaos of his mind, almost breaks his heart.

Derek's feet are moving before he knows it and he finds himself walking towards the man standing like a beacon in the darkness. Derek has eyes only for the odd figure in red plaid and black converse and awkward gait and lanky frame and milky white skin and brown moles and honey-coloured eyes framed by thick lashes and slightly upturned nose and soft, pink lips!

Derek has to go and touch the dream now before it dissolves into the thin air for at night he can imagine things that don’t exist in reality. In the morning he can pretend it never happened and the night can hide his weakness in its fold and forget all about it. The predatory semi-darkness, the strangeness of it all, the heady scent emitting from the alpha who seems to be made for him makes him bold and Derek goes up to him again..willingly this time.

Stiles fidgets where he stands, nervously and only when Derek is close to touch and leans his head to rest his head against Stiles that he dares to touch Derek. His fingers brush Derek’s cheek. It is a timid gesture, like he is scared Derek is just a dream and that he will wake up soon. Derek lets out a sigh and rests his hands on Stiles’s hip. Stiles leans forward again and Derek lets him and to Stiles's marvel, he doesn’t stiffen up or flinch back, but tilts his head slightly. Stiles laughs softly at the easy surrender and catches Derek’s lower lip delicately between his teeth. The air whooshes out of Derek’s lungs at the casual intimacy. 

The time seems to stop right there for him as Stiles's hand slips below his shirt and rests on the small of his back. It is warm on his skin and it seems to mark him, like a brand. Without thinking Derek pulls Stiles forward again and nips Stiles on the jawline, right on the pulse point. Stiles sucks in a shuddery breath and stills completely as Derek nuzzles along the side of his neck to finally settle with his nose buried in the joint of his neck and shoulder. 

“Derek...I...” Stiles’s voice is soft and shaky. 

“Don’t.” Derek mumbles. “Don’t talk.” His voice comes muffled as his lips rest against Stiles’s collarbone. “Let’s just...” He doesn’t finish the sentence for he doesn’t know what he wants to do with Stiles. He is afraid what he wants to do will take up too much of him and that he will give far too much away and he will never be able to put the pieces back together when he breaks apart, once again. But he cannot quite bring himself to care. 

“Derek...” The name is taken in reverence. Stiles pets Derek’s hair and rubs his hand over his back, again and again feeling the contours of his back, as if memorising him. Derek’s hands tighten around Stiles. Stiles is ghosting kisses on the side of his face, on the shell of his ears, making his shudder and then he kisses up his hairline and is murmuring softly, utter sweet nonsense, that he will not remember in the morning.  


Suddenly Derek lifts his head and scans the crowd. Stiles’s face is still buried in his hair and he groans in protest. Derek tries to pry himself away from Stiles.  


“Der...” Stiles opens his eyes and he looks at Derek worriedly for Derek has tensed up again but it doesn’t seem to be because of Stiles. 

“Impossible,” Derek mutters looking about him, somewhat wildly.

“Derek...what is it?” Stiles cups Derek’s face.

Derek blinks a few times before answering.

“I smell something.” He says. “Somebody.” He stumbles over the words and takes an unconscious step forward to bump into a couple.

“Hey watch it,” the guy throws a dirty look at Derek.

Derek doesn’t even seem to hear it. He just searches in the crowd frantically. Stiles can hear his heartbeat going through the roof and anxiety practically pouring out of him.

“Derek, please talk to me.” Stiles stands in front of Derek, forcing him to halt.

“What is wrong?” He asks softly. 

Derek looks at him and Stiles has never seen him quite so vulnerable even when he was having a panic attack at Scott’s house.

“I...I smell somebody I thought was dead.” Derek says, looking utterly lost.

“What?” Stiles sounds like he is sobering up, pretty fast. “Who?” He asks breathlessly.

Derek scans the crowd again and then his eyes lock on somebody and he stalks forward, shoving past Stiles.

“Cora -”

A girl with long brown hair leaning against the bar counter looks directly at Derek and stiffens visibly. Then she pushes off the counter and walks away.

“Cora...”

A couple of baby-faced but impossibly bulky young men block Derek’s path.

“Whoa!” Stiles looks up at the boys, who are evidently identical twins.

Derek looks seconds away from first degree murder and Stiles shifts in front of Derek to grab hold of his arms.

“Move.” Derek almost growls at the pair over Stiles's shoulder.

The twins look at each other and smirk. They manage to make it look downright creepy.

“Um...Derek...” Stiles tries to gently push Derek back, but he stands his ground.

“Hey...what did I miss?” Isaac appears by their side and Stiles lets out a breath he doesn't know he is holding.

Suddenly, Erica and Boyd are also there.

“Dude, take it down a notch, will ya?” Stiles turns round and narrows his eyes at the evil twins (that is how he names them in his head for they are totally that!)

They just glare at the small crowd surrounding Derek, but their stance remains as hostile as before.

Derek suddenly lunges sideways and before the twins can re-focus their attention to them, he rushes towards the entrance of the club. Stiles swears under his breath and follows Derek who has to push and shove and leave a trail of disgruntled clubbers to finally get out of the building.

“Cora..” Derek shouts. 

Stiles spots the girl he saw earlier and she doesn't even bother to look back this time. She quickly climbs into a shiny black limousine parked along the curb which was evidently waiting for her for it speeds away immediately after.

For a moment it seems Derek will give the car a chase and his heart sinks at the look in Dereks’s eyes for it is pure heartbreak. Objectively he knows it is too good to be true that an omega as attractive as Derek has no previous attachment and even though Stiles has tried to court him, he is hyper-aware that he is not exactly an epitome of alpha werewolf. After Derek's repeated rejection Stiles thought it would only be in the realm of impossible dreams for Derek to be interested in him, but to experience first-hand how Derek can be if he lets his guard down even a tiny bit and then to know he probably already has a stunning girlfriend immediately after - well let us just say that it sucks royally!

Derek slumps down to his knees right on the sidewalk and stiles hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder.

Derek looks up at him with pure pain written in his eyes.

Stiles steels himself to hear a sob story about an ex.

“That is my little sister.” Derek whispers. “I thought she was dead.”

Well...shit!


	7. Chapter 7

Derek’s feet eat up the forest floor as he runs in a steady rhythm, with the sound of air whooshing past him and the occasional chirpings of birds and the snapping of twigs under his weight. His raven hair is sweat-drenched and is plastered to his forehead and his tank top is almost thoroughly soaked, but he hardly feels it. The scenes from the night before flash across his eyes even as he effortlessly leaps over the fallen trunks and dodges a branch hanging low.

Kissing Stiles...seeing Cora...kissing...touching...Cora leaving in a fucking limousine...Stiles again...offering solace, support...offering a lift in his ridiculous jeep and Derek just pushing him away...away from his fucked up life...away from him broken soul...away...

He doesn’t know how to cope with all the emotions clashing within his heart without going mad. He is so utterly exhausted fighting his feelings for Stiles. He can still feel the warmth exuding from Stiles’s body and the way he makes him feel safe instantly, by his mere presence. It seems Derek can be on his deathbed and yet feel secure if Stiles has his arms around him. Somehow the ever-aching numbness of his heart eases whenever he is around the alpha. And that is also precisely the problem.

Objectively he knows Stiles is not Kate, but he doesn’t know what he feels for Stiles is real or it is just his omega hormones reacting to the desires of an alpha. If such is the case, there is a chance Stiles will use him and discard him even if he doesn’t intend to do so. Or he may want to mate him depending on what his raging hormones dictate him to do. The alpha in this case is as much a slave to the biology as he is. His scent or something about him is attractive to Stiles and that is the reason he is reacting to him in this way, for now. There is no other reason why a charming, sweet and caring soul like him will willingly want to have anything to do with Derek who is quite visibly damaged beyond repair. Stiles is all light and laughter while Derek is darkness personified. So the only thing that is going for Derek is the outward form that people see and like, the fucking symmetry of features and they fall for it just because he is apparently physically attractive (Derek doesn’t know for sure for he really doesn’t spare the mirror more than a cursory glance, not after Kate). 

But he is so fucking tired of fighting...

And then there was Cora.

Without thinking Derek’s feet have taken him home, his real home, or what is left of it. 

The mansion stands in a crumpling heap, precariously balancing itself on the ground now overgrown with untended bushes. The walls are black with soot and there are large gaping holes where the elements have got the better of it and the walls and windows have simply given in.

The house is completely ruined, but the structure still stands, somehow.

All the memories come crashing down upon Derek in waves...drowning him slowly...knocking the very air out of his lungs...and he chokes...

Derek is still on his knees, panting when the figure approaches him. Through bleary eyes Derek sees him and even though the man is wearing dark glasses and is carrying a white cane, all of Derek’s senses cry danger. He rises to his feet quickly to face the stranger, strangers...for now he notices there is a beautiful woman with ebony hair and dark olive skin guiding the man with a gentle grip on his arm. As they come near, Derek stiffens even more if that is possible, for both of them are alphas.

“It is overwhelming, isn’t it?” The blind man sniffs the air delicately. “The memories of your parents, siblings, uncles, aunts and cousins...” he trails off.

Derek blinks away the tears as he feels a deep anger uncoiling at the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t take too kindly when people assume it is perfectly ok to talk about his family casually in front of him.

“What a pitiful waste!” The man exclaims. His voice is deep and kind and he speaks with a strong British accent. 

Derek doesn’t trust what may come out of his mouth and therefore just grinds his teeth and remains silent and motionless.

The man approaches Derek and stands directly in front of him while the woman hangs in the background.

“They were right. You are not much of a talker. Are you?” He smiles.

“Is there a point that you are trying to make or it is just a habit to go about commenting on people’s personal...stuff?” Derek grits out finally.

The man smirks and suddenly reaches out to trace the contours of Derek’s face with his fingers lightly.

Derek is so shocked that he freezes instead of jerking away.

“What the hell was that?” Derek snarls, refusing to back down even though his skin breaks into goose-bumps at the unwelcome touch.

“Charming as well as pretty!” The blind man comments gleefully.

It is only the consideration that he shouldn’t strike a person who is visually impaired that Derek keeps his fist to himself which is just about itching to get introduced to the man’s jaw.

“Just like your father.”

Derek stares.

“How do you know my father.”

“And no concept of inflection!” The man smirks again, in fact that is the only kind of smile that he seems to be capable of achieving, a sarcastic twitch of lips.

“The name is Deucalion. For you, simply Duke and this lovely lady is Kali.”

“Well I must ask you to get off my property, simply Duke.” Derek says coldly. 

“Is that the way you talk to an alpha?” Deucalion tsked. “I would have hoped Talia had raised you to be a nice and well-mannered omega.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed if you are hoping to find a...how do you put it, ‘nice and well-mannered’ omega,” Derek air-quotes. “And don’t take my mother’s name.”

“Are you threatening US?” The dark woman, Kali speaks up for the first time. Her voice is effortlessly seductive, but there is the barest hint of fangs pushing past her luscious lips. She looks all kinds of dangerous, both of them do.

Derek suppresses the thrill of fear down his spine and tries to look bored. He is aware that the two alphas can probably snap him like a toothpick any moment between them, but that doesn’t mean he should back down. It is HIS territory after all. 

“Now now...everyone take a calming breath.” Deucalion intercepts and Kali stops glaring at Derek to throw an apologetic look towards Deucalion.

“He is just nervous. Aren’t you Derek? A beautiful and unmated omega like you shouldn’t be alone in the middle of the dark forest.” Deucalion cocks his head. 

“There are all kinds of predators around.

“We can escort you back to a safer place and have a cup of coffee or something?”

Derek raises his eyebrows incredulously. It is nobody’s business that he is unmated though the media tries to make a big deal out of it whenever an unmated omega is attacked, as if by remaining unmated the omega is calling for all alphas in the world to maul him or her. It is not only ridiculous, but a very regressive line of thought.

“No.” He simply says, without voicing his strong objections to the casual way the word ‘unmated’ is thrown around by Deucalion.

“No?” It is Deucalion’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “You know people, even alphas, think twice before refusing me. And I just made a polite request.”

“The answer is still no.” Derek backs up a little and crosses his arms. “Now please leave.”

Kali bares his fangs at him at his tone, but Derek cannot care less. He has never believed in the social norm that alphas should be revered just because they are the apex predator and the most powerful people and all that jazz.

“You can really use some friends at this point of time.” Deucalion smiles calmly. 

“I have friends, thank you very much.”

“Oh I am not talking about the social rejects that you have surrounded yourself with, including the lame excuse of an alpha.” Deucalion waves his hand dismissively. “I am talking about people with real power. You are Talia Hale’s sole surviving heir. You deserve better.”

Derek frowns. He wants to ask how he knows so much about him, but he clicks his mouth shut and takes out his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” The woman, Kali asks.

“Calling the police, since you don’t seem to know how to take a hint that you are unwelcome here.”

“You are making a huge mistake omega.” Kali’s eyes glint dangerously. “People beg to be our ally and Duke is offering it to you on a silver platter.”

“It is ok Kali.” Duke pats her hand. “He is young and not in the best frame of mind to make decisions. Let us go.”

With that, the strange pair retreats.

“Good bye Derek until we meet again.” Deucalion calls out without looking back.

Derek heaves a sigh and rolls his shoulders, trying to ease up the tension built in them. 

They have been clearly trying to rile him up and to Derek’s chagrin, they have been successful. While he has met and dealt with his more than fair quota of aggressive alphas, these two will take the cake. He hates the fact he has to resort to bluffing in order to make them go away, but the two alphas have been giving out a creepy vibe that he had not felt for a long time. He lowers himself on the stairs of his burnt out house and tries to just erase the memory of the meeting.

Half an hour later Derek jogs up five floors of his apartment complex and unlocks his door. He is exhausted, but the adrenaline rush from all the running and the climbing has spread a pleasant ache in his limbs. Isaac and Erica are probably still in bed. They returned much later than Derek who had lain quietly in the darkness, sleep eluding him completely. 

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

Derek almost jumps ten feet in air.

Sitting at the kitchen counter across the room, nestling a cup of steaming hot coffee to his chest is Chris fucking Argent, Special agent from RWCB, a certified werewolf hunter and Kate Argent’s brother.

Erica looks up at Derek apologetically.

Derek wills his heart to slow the hell down and approaches the light-eyed man carefully.

“What do you mean?” Derek frowns.

“Go off on your own without letting anybody know about your whereabouts. It may turn very ugly very quickly if you get my drift.”

“No I DON’T get you drift.” Derek bits out. “What are you doing here?”

Chris raises his eyebrow at his tone.

“You haven’t changed one bit, have you?” Chris asks with a hint of an amusement in his voice.

Derek wants to retort he has changed alright. In fact he has changed so much AFTER Chris Argent’s sister fucked up his life that his own friends from school don’t recognise him when he comes across them anywhere.

But he doesn’t say anything out loud. What is the fucking point anyways? Chris’s family never believed Kate had anything to do with the fire at Hale house. They had somehow managed to make Derek appear as the villain of the piece, always trying to pin him as the arsonist who during a heat-induced insanity spell had set fire to his own house. Peter’s going feral didn’t help the matter either.

Derek stands in front of Chris and looks at him with eyebrows raised.

“You seem to get into a situation at a nightclub last night.” Chris suddenly gets all businesslike, all ruthless efficiency and clinical detachment. Derek cannot really decide if it is an improvement on a sarcastic Chris.

“You mean when the asshole of the doorman baited me?”

“Yeah. That and when you punched a beta werewolf in the face at the same night, without provocation, causing quite a scene I believe.”

“The second one is not your problem. It was a misunderstanding.” 

“It is not his fault.” Erica barges in. “I called him there and he was merely defending my honour.”

“Defending your honour!” Chris drawls.

“Erica is my friend. Whoever tries to hurt her must go through me.” Derek says impassively.

“It is a misunderstanding as I said earlier.” Erica babbles. “Boyd and Stiles were together at the bar drinking and I thought they were dating, but they were just -“  


“I really don’t see how it is your business anyway.” Derek lays a hand on Erica’s arm to stop her. “It is between friends.”

“Is that so?” Chris asks sceptically.

“Has Boyd filed a complaint against me?” Derek asks calmly.

“No, but then he doesn’t need to. There were enough witnesses to see you go postal.”

“So you are just basing your judgement on a bunch of people so sloshed they wouldn’t recognise their own mother?” Erica quirks an eyebrow.

“As a matter of fact, no.” Chris slams the newspaper he is holding in his left hand on the kitchen counter.

Erica frowns, but unrolls the paper. 

Derek looks over just out of curiosity and reels back.

There are his pictures, him flashing his eyes at the doorman, holding him by the shirt collar, and him punching Boyd, his face twisted in rage, looking like he is holding back a snarl, plastered across the twelfth page with the headline: “Omega Hale certainly knows how to make an impression.”

Derek squints at the name below the picture - Matt Daehler. The name is oddly familiar, but Derek for his life cannot quite remember where he has heard it.  


“I hope the pictures say it all.” Chris pipes up. 

Derek opens his mouth and then closes it, not able to look away from the newspaper. To any neutral observer it will look bad if the context is not known. It appears to the picture of a werewolf barely in control of himself, especially with the doorman, who is a human. Derek bits down his lower lip. Should he feel sorry for him now that he looks at him in a saner environment?

Absolutely not - Derek’s brain supplies. He richly deserved the scaring Derek gave him. At least there were no broken bones involved or any serious injury for that matter. Derek had made sure of it even when he had slammed the man against the wall. 

“You are just looking for an excuse aren’t you?” Derek’s head snaps up at Isaac’s voice. He is leaning on the counter, looking at Chris intently.  
Derek hasn’t even noticed his arrival.

Chris’s forehead creased. “I don’t know how you get the idea, but Derek already is on the yellow zone. He has been since he has turned eighteen and has chosen to remain unmated. That is the law.”

Erica takes a sharp breath beside Derek. So, he is one wrong move away from the red zone and then there is the black zone which means he will have to be put down, like a dog.

“What kind of assholes have drafted such a rule that an omega has to be mated by the time he or she is eighteen? We live in twenty first century for Chrissake!” Erica bursts out.

“The laws are tried and tested methods to keep our society functioning without resorting to chaos and mayhem. Unmated omegas cause unnecessary complications for the simple biological reason that their pheromones make the alphas want to lay claim on them. Even betas are not immune.”

Erica bristles on behalf of Derek. “You mean to say it is his fault if an alpha cannot keep it in his pants?”

“Being the apex predator and on the top of the food chain, the society expects certain things from an alpha.” Chris responds. “It is the same with an omega.”

Erica opens her mouth for an angry retort, but Derek puts a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head at her. He has a lifetime dealing with the common notion how omegas are supposed to be tame home-makers and needs to settle down as soon as possible. While it never gets easy listening to the same sexist bullshit over and over again, he has become used to it. He doesn’t expect people, least of all Chris Argent, whose family has made it their business to keep the werewolves in toes to have a view that should be radically different from the conventional one. 

“Ok, so you think I am dangerous.” Derek asks. He feels almost resigned. His battle is lost even before it has begun. There is nothing he can say or do that can move Chris or change his opinion of him.

“What do you propose I should do?” 

“Standard things that will stop you from tripping over to the red zone.” Chris says. “Counselling sessions, therapy, mating with an alpha as soon as possible. You already know the drill.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I do.” Derek replies grimly. After Kate incident he was made to see a therapist by RWCB. 

Dr. Deaton was a small man with a zen-like aura about him. The man was convinced, like Chris Argent, it was Derek who was responsible for the fire and he tried his best to coax a confession out of him. 

“Just admit it Derek. It was not really your fault. You are only an omega and you are still unmated. It is not unheard of an unmated omega to fly off the handle during a particularly stressful heat.

“If you just admit it, you will feel lighter.” Derek can still remember his calm and reasonable voice.

The therapy came to an abrupt stop after he had almost ripped his hand off when Deaton touched his arm as a comforting gesture when Derek was choking on emotions while describing his relationship with his parents.

Derek had stormed out of Deaton’s clinic and never went back, letting the chips fall where they might.

He should have known the Bureau would not let him go that easily. 

“When do I start?” Derek feels numb, but what choice does he have? Being in the red zone means he may be forcibly mated with an alpha or he may be transferred to a ‘facility’ for rogue and feral were-creatures maintained by RWCB. 

“Derek, they can’t make you do anything.” Isaac says, outraged.

“Yes Mr. Lahey we can.” Chris says stonily. “And you may do well to remember your father’s murder case is still open and you still don’t have an alibi.”

“My father was abusive and alcoholic, but that doesn’t mean I killed him.” Isaac ‘s eyes flashed gold. “It only goes to prove your inefficiency that you couldn’t catch the real culprit and has been trying to pin it on somebody most convenient.”

“It is a good theory actually.” Erica smirks. 

“It seems you are rubbing off on them.” Chris raises his eyebrows at Derek. 

“Don’t get sidetracked Argent.” Derek warns. “It is me whom you are after, your entire fucking family in fact. So deal with me and not with my room-mates.” The last line is delivered with an appropriate glare levelled at his stupid friends.

Chris huffs irritably. “Don’t flatter yourself. You are not important enough for us to specifically target you.”

“Right.” Derek sighs. “Your father Gerard never held a grudge against werewolves because a rogue one bit his precious daughter. Your crazy sister didn’t decide to murder my family in their sleep. It is all me, naturally.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Chris says sternly. “Make sure to turn up at the local office of the Bureau at 6 today. You will meet your new therapist there.”  
The hunter stands up and makes way for the door.

“Oh joy.” Derek mutters under his breath.

Chris stops before getting out of the apartment and turns back.

“Contrary to what you believe I am really not your enemy Derek. The sooner you realise it, the better.”

“What is it then? My fucking biology?” 

“That is a part of it, yes. We have a system that works well for everybody. There is a reason there is a system in the first place.” Chris ignores Derek’s glare and goes on. “An alpha will anchor and stabilise you. Our society does not condone volatile behaviour and you know why.”

Derek knows. He is not stupid. In a society where werewolves and humans co-exist, the semblance of control is everything. If the society cannot keep everyone on a tight leash, there may be bloodbath for what is a natural instinct in a werewolf can be punishable by death by the human law. The reason Kate Argent went scot-free after she killed her sire and became an alpha was because it was revenge. She was a hunter and the bite was forced on her. As a werewolf, she was within her right to wreak vengeance upon the feral wolf.

But that knowledge doesn’t make Derek feel less like a living breathing creature with his own wishes and aspirations and more like a mere pawn in a bigger game.

It cannot be right when it feels so utterly wrong.

“I don’t ask to be condoned.” Derek says evenly, looking at Chris into the eyes. “I only ask to be left alone. That is the least you can do.”

Chris sighs again. “It doesn’t work that way.” 

It seems like he has something more to say, but he merely shakes his head and lets himself out of the door.

Derek slumps down against the counter and Erica wraps her arms around him silently.

“Dude, that sucks majorly.” Isaac chews his lip. “And totally uncalled for. People get into worse brawls in nightclubs every day.”

“This Matt Daehler person must have some serious grudge against you.” Erica mumbles from Derek’s chest. “The asshole has twisted the entire thing and blown it out of proportion.”

He is not the only one, Derek thinks and pulls Erica into a tighter hug, taking comfort from the warmth of her skin.

Derek misses kissing Stiles...to get so drunk on his kisses that he forgets the entire world for the time being and loses himself in the pattern of moles on his pale skin. It is so weird for they had only kissed last night, but he misses kissing Stiles anyways.

Derek misses Stiles knocking at their door with a bunch of flowers in his hand, shuffling from foot to foot.

He probably really needs that therapy.


	8. Chapter 8

Derek wakes up from sleep drenched in cold sweat.

Deucalion. He has finally been able to place the name as he dreams of Paige after a long time. 

Usually he doesn’t remember his dreams and it is probably a good thing because, usually, he wakes up from sleep dead into the night, hyperventilating, with a sense of grief so intense that consumes his whole being, leaving his heart aching in longing.

He doesn’t remember what he has seen, but only the ghost of a memory of it…sensations like the warm hug of his mother, the throaty laughter of his father (which he inherited from him), Laura’s eyes sparkling in mischief, wind ruffling up his hair as he goes for a run in the middle of the night with his younger cousins at his heels, the taste of the underdone chocolate cake Cora made in poor imitation of their mother, but Derek had it anyway, swallowing the floury thing with a smiling face, so as not to hurt her feelings…

Sometimes he dreams of Kate. He doesn’t remember them either, but he realizes it is her because he wolfs out in the middle of the sleep, claws slashing the bed-sheet, fangs dropping, tearing his lips bloody and he usually wakes up screaming into the darkness to let him go.

He thought he might dream of Kate today when his therapist at RWCB head quarter took a Rorschach test and all he could see in the inkblots was raging fire.

His therapist had handed him over her card, a simple white rectangle containing her name embossed in black ink and her phone number.

“Call me if you have nightmares, no matter what time at night.”

Derek didn’t know how she deduced about the nightmares only after taking an inkblot test, but he decided she was competent and knew what she was doing.

Derek decided to like her.

Jennifer Blake has soft brown curls, open green eyes and an easy smile and she is a human. She is soft-spoken and extremely polite. She had stood up when Derek had entered into the room and was profoundly apologetic they had to meet at the RWCB Head Quarter and suggested if Derek would be more comfortable moving the session to her house-come-clinic which Derek later found out to be within a walking distance from his apartment.

Miss Blake, Jennifer (for that is what she had insisted Derek to call her), had a thick file in her hand, no doubt filled with the minute details of Derek’s past history, but she never mentioned the fire, let alone goading him for a confession of a crime he did not commit even after the inkblot test. She talked about his work, his friends, his love of baking and before long Derek had found himself talking about his family out of his own volition. Not in great details though, but in bits and pieces, odd quirks of his family members, childhood incidents that were embarrassing or funny.

Derek hadn’t talked about his family for a long time with anybody, but the way Jennifer kept nodding her head, looking for all the world like she was absorbing the insignificant details of Derek’s life like it was the most fascinating things she had heard and laughing in the tinkling way of hers that left Derek blushing for some reason, he couldn’t stop once he had started and it poured out of him freely. 

When the stipulated one hour was over Derek actually left her room reluctantly. Something had come loose in him while being able to talk about his family freely without the fear of being judged or pitied for Jennifer had done neither.

She had even escorted him out of the building housing the bureau and Derek was pleasantly surprised to see his two sidekicks leaning against Isaac’s white Vespa, waiting for him, in all their leather-jacket clad glory.

“Hey Der,” Isaac had winked at him after he had said goodbye to Miss Bl-, Jennifer, and the latter disappearing into the intimidating building again. “Tell me we got worried over nothing for if that is how your therapist looks like -”

“You got worried over nothing.” Derek rolled his eyes, cutting him off mid-sentence, but he hugged his friends anyway, silently thanking them for the support.

“Seriously though,” Isaac said peering intently into Derek’s eyes. “Is it alright or does Erica get to beat the crap out of your hot therapist for callous remarks?”

“It is ok,” Derek replied. “We have already set up an appointment for the next session.”

Erica popped the bubblegum she had been chewing aggressively.

“What?” Derek was defensive. “She is kinda nice. We talked about different things. It was good.”

“You talked…about things?” Erica mock-chocked. She put a hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling unwell or what?”

Derek swatted her hand away irritably. “What is wrong with you? I can talk, Ok?”

“Oh we have no doubt.” Isaac smirked. “You have the ability to run your mouth enough and mostly at all the wrong places to land all of us in trouble. But to talk about feelings and emotions, Heavens forbid!”

Erica was about to say something, but she clicked her mouth shut as all three of them turned around to find Gerard Argent coming out of the building and with him there was that man again, Deucalion, with a white cane.

“Derek,” he called out cheerfully and Gerard’s attention snapped to him in an instant. “Have you read the newspaper today? It is unfortunate how the standards have diminished. They print a lot of crap nowadays, won’t you say?” He took a couple of steps forward towards Derek with Gerard Argent by his side who had a smirk plastered on his lips that Derek didn’t like at all.

“I have a feeling with the kind of readers, the newspapers are bound to be that – full of shit I mean,” Derek shot back.

“And here we go again,” Isaac mutters, “case in point.”

“Jeez, you love to leave an impression Der.” Erica smiles dazzlingly.

“Can we maybe move away from here and then hold this urgent conference?” Derek grimaced. “Just a thought!”

The three friends moved quickly away with Isaac walking his bike up to the place Derek had parked his Camaro.

The universe has a way to balance things out for Derek.

So naturally he had to have the nightmares that night for the therapy session was anything but a torture that Derek had anticipated. Also tonight of all nights, he remembers his dream vividly as he sits into the darkness into the empty apartment, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat.

He has seen himself rocking the lifeless body of Paige in the root celler under the nemeton. He can still feel her weight in his arms.

He climbs out of his bed to get his wallet and his mobile and with a shaking hand he dials the number displayed on the card.

“Hello,” a soft voice replies. It doesn’t appear sleepy at all.

Derek clutches the phone and doesn’t answer.

“Derek is that you?” Jennifer says gently.

“How…how do you know?” Derek stammers.

Jennifer sighs audibly.

“Sometimes speaking about your past, it kind of jogs your memory, activates unknown triggers. I guessed you might have nightmares about the past traumas you have suffered.”

Derek remains silent.

“Hey don’t overthink.” Jennifer chides gently. “Today you did so good. I don’t know what was the matter with you previous therapist, but trust me I am not going to push you to do or say anything before you are completely comfortable with it.”

“Thank you.” Derek says earnestly.

“Don’t. This is my job. Besides I know a thing or two about therapies going wrong.” Jennifer says quietly. 

“What do you mean?”

“I will tell you someday.” She promises. “I believe somehow the regular kind of approach won’t work with you. I am going to try to be your friend first and a therapist later for a fat lot of good the therapy did to you and you might have developed a case of therapist-phobia.”

Derek is silent again. On one hand he really likes the way Jennifer gets him every time even before he opens his mouth, but then his natural defense system doesn’t want to give in too easily.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Derek says after a long pause. He wants to test if Jennifer will lie and say it is ok for Jennifer has clearly been awake already.

“Nah, I was not sleeping.” Jennifer says. “I cannot sleep at night. I sleep only during the day.”

Derek lets out a breath he has not been aware of holding.

“Well, if that is not slightly vampirish.” He remarks. 

“There is no coffin at my place.” Derek feels Jennifer smiling. “I love garlic too.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are a vampire,” Derek finds himself smiling too. “But tell me if you sparkle in sunlight for that is a deal-breaker for me.”

So they talk about various random things and Derek finally disconnects for he is almost falling asleep over the phone.

Derek feels himself considerably lighter and when he falls asleep again, there are no nightmares to plague him. He wakes up late in the morning feeling refreshed, a rare feeling for him.


	9. Chapter 9

“Are you stalking Stiles?”

Derek looks up from the pile of blueberries and blinks his eyes a few times to focus on the guy with angry eyes and dark, floppy hair.

Scott Maccall.

Beside him, there is Stiles of course, who at least has the decency to face-palm.

“Scott.” Stiles says from behind his hand.

“Don’t ‘Scott’ me.” Scott whirls round on his friend. “He has been following our trail ever since we entered here.”

Derek’s jaw clenches.

He loves his trip to the farmer’s market on Sunday morning. When he was little, he used to come here with his father and he never grew out of the habit. He easily loses himself in the sensory overload of the colours and the noises and the smell, especially the smell of ripe fruits and fresh produces. It is normal for him to zone out while hunting for fresh limes, tangerines and berries and picking the choicest of strawberries for his baked goodies or to bargain with a shop-owner over a sack of organic flour.

He has never noticed Stiles or his friend before now.

“I think you have got it the other way round buddy.” Stiles still refuses to take his hand off his face but from the little bit of skin showing through his fingers, he can probably rival the ripe tomatoes in Derek’s basket.

“Good morning to you too Scott.” Derek sighs. He beats down the urge to belt out an appropriate adjective to let Scott know what exactly he thinks about his opinion of him, but his sessions with his new therapist, Jennifer, have been enlightening. Jennifer requested (not prescribed or instructed!) him during the last session to take a couple seconds before speaking, picturing how the other person may take what comes out of him mouth.

So here he is, exchanging pleasantries with a person who probably hates his very guts. But at least Stiles is not hiding now, he is staring at him, slack-jawed.

“And you too, Stiles.” Derek cannot help the twitch in his lips. It is REALLY cute when Stiles does the fish impression.

Stiles narrows his eyes.

“What? No running away as fast as your legs can carry you? Or avoiding me like I am plague on earth?” He croaks.

“Why would I run?” Derek raises his eyebrow. “I enjoy this particular activity very much.”

“Derek Hale loves to go to the farmer’s market.” Stiles says delightfully, but immediately after he looks crestfallen. “Why do you keep on revealing things about you that makes you more adorable?”

Derek doesn’t even know how to answer that. The last person who told him he was adorable was Laura, even after the fire and everything, even after he morphed into this abrasive person glaring at everybody who as much as looks at his direction.

“I am not adorable.” Derek frowns.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” Stiles winks at him. “Only I know that you are a dork.”

“Am not.” Derek insists.

“Are too.”

“No.” Derek grits his teeth. He realises he has clean forgotten what the argument is about in the first place and all his attention is fixated on Stiles’ long limbs as he flails so hard that he almost lands on his ass. Derek catches himself staring and he forces his eyes away, rolling them heavenward instead.

“Well you bake cupcakes for a living, you punch a werewolf for ditching your friend, you climb up a building like a spider monkey to gift an apple pie to the person you don’t even like...and then this!” Stiles gestures around with his hand. “Admit it, you are a closet dork.”

“Guys,” Scott clears his throat. “Do you perhaps need a minute?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

Derek and Stiles say at the same time and then they stare at each other.

“Dude, there is so much sexual tension in air right about now that it is making it difficult to breathe.” Stiles says.

A woman who is passing by with a young kid turns back to glare at him after putting her hands on the kid’s ears belatedly.

“Sorry about that, but someone needed to say that!” Stiles waves at her cheerily.

Derek shakes his head wondering at the growing fondness spreading in his heart for this crazy alpha with all his awkwardness, his un-coordinated flailing and his general joie de vivre that Derek lacks so much.

“Are you always this much insufferable?” Derek huffs.

“I wouldn’t know. Are you always this much uptight?” Stiles deadpans. 

Derek glares at him.

Scott is looking from Stiles to Derek back and forth like watching a tennis match.

“Guys, either you stop eye-fucking each other or I am taking off, taking YOUR jeep,” Scott pokes Stiles on his chest. “for it seems you are getting a lift.”

“Am I?” Stiles sounds confused.

“Oh for fuck’s sake...” Scott throws his hands in air. “Give me your key Stiles.”

Stiles wordlessly hands him over the key to his jeep.

“You.” Scott suddenly focuses on Derek. “Bring him home in one piece or I will come after you...or something...” he trails off looking uncertain.

“Oh God.” Stiles chokes. “Scott, buddy, you are killing me. If you ever threaten anybody that person will surely die...overdosed by cuteness.”

“Wait...” Derek begins saying, but before he can get another word out Scott is storming away. Stiles shuffles from one foot to another awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. Derek just turns into a stone statue and stares at him, not sure what just happened. 

“Are you done?” 

Both Derek and Stiles jump at the voice and look up to see the bored-looking shopkeeper standing with his arms across his chest.

“Yeah.” Derek replies and he pays the man quickly and makes way for his car. He will do the rest of the shopping from the supermarket. He doesn’t trust the way his heart is hammering away in his chest and if Stiles is unable to notice it, it is only because his own heartbeat is going through the roof too.

Derek pauses a bit at the driver’s door, looking over at Stiles hovering uncertainly on the other side of the car.

“So, are you going to murder me?” Stiles says sheepishly. “If you do, I would prefer that you do it inside your car. It is a killer car by the way. I mean...it got killer looks...just like you.” Stiles cringes. “Not killer...I don’t mean...”

Derek calmly skirts around the vehicle and stands in front of Stiles, toe-to-toe and effectively shuts him up with a searing kiss. Stiles freezes for a second or two and Derek starts pulling away. 

“No...” Stiles grabs Derek’s head burying his fingers in his dark hair. When Derek stiffens up Stiles uses his superior strength, for the first time after meeting Derek, to guide and angle Derek’s head bringing his mouth closer to him and then kisses Derek back. Derek’s inhibitions, his put upon barriers start melting away under Stiles’ touch. At 6’1, both of them are of exact same height and they fit, like two pieces of a particularly stubborn puzzle. Derek feels dizzy, like he is sixteen year old again, like it is not only a kiss but Stiles is caressing his very soul and he is weightless. He instinctively grabs Stiles, pulling him closer. Stiles moans and wraps one hand around Derek’s shoulder while with the other he cradles Derek's head, taking more of his body weight.

If it is not for the loud catcalls and an indignant ‘get a room you two!’, Derek would probably never let go of Stiles. Truth is, he doesn’t want to let go, at all.  


Suddenly Derek realises they are in public...in the midst of a market for God’s sake! He springs back from Stiles whose eyes are still closed and who makes grabby hands at him like he cannot even help it. 

“Fuck,” Derek swears under his breath.

“Derek,” Stiles says brokenly, opening his eyes.

Derek’s heart lurches painfully. It has been a long time since somebody wanted him, needed him like this.

“Get into the car.” He instructs and Stiles does so immediately.

Derek slides into the driver’s seat and puts on the seat-belt.

“Wear your seat-belt.” He says, starting the engine.

“So bossy.” Stiles grumbles, but he starts fidgeting with the buckle of the seat-belt nonetheless.

Derek waits for a few seconds before his patience runs out. He swats away his hands and clicks the buckle in place. He can hear Stiles’s heart jackhammering as he leans over him. 

Derek drives quietly trying subtly to breathe through his mouth. The smell of Stiles is overwhelming - pine and citrus, sun and sea-breeze...so potent, so rich and so magnificent. It invades Derek’s sense and makes him clutch the steering wheel in desperation. He is falling and he knows it and it terrifies him, but he doesn’t care any more and it terrifies him EVEN more.

He steals a glance at Stiles who is sitting unnaturally still, staring fixedly ahead.

“I was not stalking you.” Derek breaks the awkward silence first.

“Oh I know.” There is an edge of bitterness in his voice. “I was not stalking you either.” Stiles pauses. “Ok maybe in the last two shops.” He pauses again. “Ok maybe the entire morning since I spotted you.”

Derek’s lips twitched. For some weird reason it warms his heart rather than bringing up his walls.

“It is ok.” He mumbles. He wants to add ‘I really don’t mind.’ For the thought of Stiles watching him from afar doesn’t creep him out at all. In fact it does things to him that he doesn’t want to admit to himself.

“I am sorry for Scott.” Stiles says quietly. 

“It is ok Stiles.” Derek repeats, more forcefully this time. “I am used to people assuming things about me. I am an omega, so I have to be meek and submissive, I don’t take well to people and so I must be a sociopath...I accidentally overdose on suppressant because I don’t want to spend a day being fucked by a stranger and I must be a junkie...I scare an asshole of a human and I am a monster barely able to control myself.”

He feels Stiles’ eyes on him.

“Sorry.” Derek keeps his eyes trained on the road. “You didn’t need to hear any of it.”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head. “You have no reason to be sorry. If I had been in your place I would probably get into a fist fight every day if people assume things about me when they know nothing about me." After a pause he adds, "I wish I could make it better for you.”

Derek starts but he doesn’t look at Stiles.

“It is not that I am trying to make a grand gesture here.” Stiles waves his hand. “I...would...I don’t know, become your friend, if not anything? You can talk to me about anything and I promise never to judge you.”

“I don’t need another therapist Stiles.” Derek says parking smoothly in front of Stiles’ apartment. “I already have one and she seems to be pretty good.”

Stiles sighs audibly and his shoulders slump in defeat.

“But maybe we can do something else?” Derek still stares in front.

“What?” Stiles asks dejectedly.

“Maybe we can...I don’t know, catch a movie and have dinner together?”

Stiles stops breathing.

“Stiles?” Derek finally looks at Stiles, concerned. He was looking pale and somewhat blue in the face. Derek reaches over and splays a hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” He says, gently but firmly.

Stiles starts breathing, looking deep into Derek’s eyes, searching for something. Derek keeps his hand on Stiles’ chest, feeling the heartbeat steadying.

“If you are just playing with me,” Stiles pants, “I must say this is SO NOT COOL!”

Derek bit down on his lower lip to stop smiling.

“You are serious?” Stiles stares at him incredulously. “You want to date me? Finally after all these days?”

“If you are still interested, yes.” Derek meets his stare calmly. “And you are not going to demand to be my mate or my heat-partner or anything just after going out with me for a couple of days.”

Though Derek knows Stiles is not that type of guy, but he has known alphas are quick to stake claims especially when they start dating an omega. If an alpha claims he has bonded to an omega the law says the omega must marry the alpha no matter what the feeling of the omega is on this matter. Biologically a bond is always two-sided and so it should not even matter, but Derek has seen enough to suspect it may not always be the case.

“Int...Derek?” Stiles screeches. “Why, I mean it is not that I am on the seventh heaven, but why? I must know this or it will eat me up...I mean -”

“Did you even listen to what I said?” 

Stiles frowns. “Derek you cannot date me if you don’t trust me. I like you a lot, but I will never take advantage of you like this. Well what am I even saying, I have already done that...messing up with your head with my stupid crush...I mean that is what the kiss is all about isn’t it? You felt attracted to me because I was leaking pheromones all over the place. I am so disgusting!”

Derek starts to open his mouth, but Stiles beats him to it. “You don’t deserve to compromise Derek or feel pressurised that you have to take an alpha. If you date anybody, you should do it because you feel something for him.”

Stiles’ eyes are begging Derek to understand what he is saying, sacrificing, in fact for he doesn’t only like Derek, he is sure he is pretty much hopelessly in love. He has dreamt of the omega constantly and his scent haunts him day and night. He loves everything about Derek - his prickliness, his dry wit, his courage to stand up to every bully he faces, his fierce protectiveness - hell, Stiles has known many alphas who are not as brave and as intimidating or exudes as much natural alphaness as his omega (NOT HIS, his mind supplies quietly).

But he cannot do this to Derek. While he understands Derek’s reason to seek him out now of all time for people can only fight so much before giving in, he will not be the one taking Derek against his will, breaking his very spirit that he is so much in love with...

Derek is staring at him again and it feels like an intimate moment as he is caught up in the multitude of colours in Derek’s eyes. It is impossible to know what Derek is feeling for he is usually very good at suppressing his emotions, probably a natural defence system against an alpha, Stiles thinks sadly.

Finally Derek opens his mouth. “Why do you think I want to date you?”

Stiles almost cringes for he doesn’t really want to voice his thoughts. Whereas he knows Derek is perfectly justified to act like this especially after the night-club incident which was Stiles’ fault anyway, he doesn’t imagine Derek will take it in any way other than the worst possible way.

“You think I want to date you because I want to use an alpha’s protection.” Derek says in a monotone, his face still betraying nothing.

“It is not like that.” Stiles protested, except for that it is exactly like that, only Derek has phrased it much more bluntly. The crux of the matter is Stiles is a replaceable alpha and Derek needs one who is less obnoxious than the others.

“I know you are in the yellow zone and they are keeping a tab on you.”

“How would you know that.” Derek’s voice is dangerously calm. 

“My father is the sheriff?” Stiles supplies meekly. “I was concerned about you after the story came out in the newspaper. It was...really mean-spirited.”

“And when I ask you out, you immediately thought it is because RWCB has given me an ultimatum and that is why I -” Derek cuts himself off mid-sentence and tears his eyes away from Stiles, leaning away from him physically.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eye-sockets.

“Get out Stiles.” He says quietly.

“Derek, I didn’t mean to...” Stiles started. “I mean, you hate me right? Why would you...”

“Get.out.” Derek growls

“Ok, ok,” Stiles climbs out of the vehicle with his heart in his mouth. 

Before he can bend down and say something, Derek is already reversing the car.

Stiles stands rooted to the spot until the Camaro is out of his sight. Neither he nor Derek notice the dark blue Mercedes some distance away which quietly slips away and has been discreetly following the Camaro since morning.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wow...this is epic!” Isaac exclaims.

Even Erica looks awestruck.

“Are those real fireworks?” She asks, pointing at the sparklers stuck out from the outer rim of the massive five-tire cake.

“Yeah,” Mason grins. The boy has been jumping up and down like an excited puppy since he has set his eyes upon the beautiful cake. “There are sixteen of them, for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah right.” Erica laughs. “Who needs boring candles when you can have pyrotechnics?”

“I think it is dumb.” Liam scowls at the cake. “It is just a cake and is meant to be eaten. I really don’t see the point of wasting so much time decorating it.”

“Because you are secretly a caveman.” Isaac rolls his eyes. “And don’t let Derek hear you say something like that about his cake. I have seen the dude having serious life-altering conversations with his stand mixer when he thinks no one is looking.”

“That is...even more stupid.”

“Who is stupid?” Derek emerges from his room dressed in a baby blue button down, a pair of slim-fit, dark trousers and dress shoes. He is clean-shaven and his dark, glistening hair is back-brushed stylishly with the help of hair gel. He has one finger hooked through the collar of a dark blue dinner jacket thrown casually over his shoulder.

A jaw-dropping silence follows.

“Guys?” Derek drops the jacket on a chair and snaps his fingers in front of Isaac for he is the closest.

Isaac gives a start, but still cannot quite manage to speak.

“Erica?” Derek turns to his other friend with a frown who suddenly rushes forward and slams into Derek.

“Ow...what the hell - ” 

Before Derek can get the entire sentence out she is running her nose up and down the side of his throat, rubbing her scent on his bare skin.

Isaac seems to wake up from a stupor and strides forward, enfolding both Derek and Erica in a bear-hug, with his long arms, rubbing his smooth cheek against Derek’s.

“Isaac?” Derek leans into their touches with a bewildered expression. “What’s wrong?” 

He directs this question to Liam for he is the only one who is looking on with what can only be described as a bored expression on his face. 

“You are looking hot.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Hot? Hot?????” Erica snaps out of her dazedness and whirls round on the poor kid with a frightening expression. “He is...he is looking more edible than the fucking cake. He is looking like...fuck...I am his best friend and I have never felt turned on in my life. Sorry Derek.” She pats on Derek’s arm with a sheepish grin.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand for Isaac still hasn’t let him go.

“Isaac.” He calls softly.

But Isaac is still clinging on to him like an overgrown koala, rubbing his cheek on him, caressing Derek’s face gently with the tips of his fingers, layering his scent on him. Derek knows what he is doing, even though the gesture seems almost unconscious. They are scent-marking him, making sure to leave their signature to let the other wolves know he belongs to a pack; marking territory, in a way. It is sweet and protective of them and it comes naturally to any wolf to scent-mark their pack-mates and it has got very little to do with him being an omega. In fact Derek is actually very tactile with his room-mates and is happy to cuddle with them on their large velvet sofa, watching movies.

It is a completely innocent protective instinct for a pack mate, but they are not exactly a pack (though for a non-pack, they function surprisingly well) and the idea of being marked is somehow revolting to Derek.

“Isaac!” Derek physically pulls Isaac away from him who makes a whiny noise of protest.

“I am getting late.” He snaps, still holding onto Isaac’s shoulders to keep him at an arm’s length.

“You are not going out looking like this in a party full of alphas.” Isaac hisses.

Derek looks down at himself.

“What is wrong with my looks?”

“Der bear, they will jump you the moment you enter there.” Erica shakes her head ruefully. “You are too fucking beautiful.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It is twenty first century Erica. I can dress as I like. Nobody is going to jump anybody.”

“He is so going to eat his words.” Liam whispers to Mason.

“Hey little brat,” Derek almost snarls at Liam. “I can hear you perfectly and what the hell are you doing here?”

“You-you said we will need a helping hand?” Mason squeaks. He has always been terrified of Derek which amuses Erica and Isaac to no end.

“This is your helping hand?” Derek snorts, looking up and down the scowly boy. 

“Listen omega, I am doing you a favour so you better - ”

“Hasn’t anybody taught you any manners at all?” Derek glares at him. “You better not open your mouth during the entire length of the party.”

“What a bitch!” Liam mutters under his breath, but Derek catches the words anyway and he whirls round on him.

“What did you just call me?”

“I called you a b - ”

In a fraction of second Liam finds himself hurled across the room to finally crash against the wall and fall down in a graceless heap.

“Derek!” Erica screeches, scandalised.

Isaac quickly goes over to the kid, sticking out his hand to help him rise to his feet.

Liam shoots a baleful look at Isaac.

“Ok.” Isaac puts his hands up in air. “Take your time.”

“Jesus Derek!” Erica smacks Derek upside down on the head. “I thought the therapy was doing you good. It is just a stupid kid.”

Derek at least has the grace to look a bit sheepish.

“That...was awesome!”

All three of them turn to look at Mason who is laughing his ass off.

“Hey.” Erica chides. “He is your friend. Why are you laughing?”

“He will get over it.” Mason makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, still smiling goofily. “His step-dad spoils him way too much. He knows he totally had it coming.”

Derek heaves a sigh and advances towards the kid cautiously who still hasn’t quite got over the shock. He wordlessly extends his hand towards Liam who narrows his eyes at Derek, but finally grabs it. Derek helps his on the feet and leads him to the armchair.

“Sit here.” He commands.

Liam continues to glower, but he obeys nonetheless. Derek enters into his room and reappears with the medical box. He kneels down in front of Liam and takes out cotton balls.

“I will heal.” Liam says through clenched teeth.

“I know.” Derek sighs again, dipping the cotton ball into liquid antiseptic. “A little bit of help cannot hurt.”

Erica and Isaac watch Derek with open amusement as he cleans up Liam’s wounds and applies the ointment methodically on the cuts and bruises even though most of them are almost healed anyway. 

“I am sorry kid.” Derek says, once he is sure he has got all the wounds covered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” Liam averted his eyes. “I should be the one to apologise.”

Mason makes a choking noise at the back of his throat. 

“The world must be ending.” He mutters.

Liam throws him a dirty look.

“I hurt you.” Derek frowns at him. "I...I lose my temper sometimes. I am sorry." He repeated.

“Well I deserved it for being an ass.” Liam, this time holds Derek’s gaze. “I was totally out of line.”

“I should have video-recorded it!” Mason mutters gleefully.

“Well, I think you said you were running late.” Isaac cuts through Derek’s third apology and makes an impatient gesture with his hand. “If you are not changing Derek, we are all going with you. So WE definitely need to change into something decent.” He adds.

Derek opens his mouth to argue but notices the mulish expression on his friends and heaves a put upon sigh. 

“Ok. Get ready then. I will give you exactly two minutes.”

“Two and half. I need two minutes to put on my lipstick.” Erica pouts.

Derek rolls his eyes at her as they disappear into their respective rooms.

“That was pretty cool by the way.” Liam suddenly mumbles.

“What!” Derek turns to him with a bewildered expression. 

“The whole throwing me across the room thing.” Liam smiles. His smile is blindingly sweet and he looks even younger when he does it. Derek feels his chest tighten suddenly. At least one of his cousins would have been the exact same age as Liam is if not...well, Derek will not venture down that lane today of all days. 

Today he has got a big order from none other than Deucalion and he hasn’t dared to say no for he knows for a fact that all the important people in Bacon Hills will be there, including the mayor and the who’s whos of the werewolf community, for the birthday party of Deucalion’s adopted daughter. A woman called Braeden who identified herself as Deucalion’s personal assistant called Derek three days ago and placed the order. She was cool, professional and business-like as she discussed various flavour combinations and the colouring and decorations of the cake. The payment offered was quite generous and Derek couldn’t let the opportunity slip away from him for he knew it would be a good advertisement for his business.

“Can you teach me?” Derek is snapped out of his day-dream at Liam’s voice. 

He is about to ask Liam if he is joking or not, but the look on Liam’s face is completely serious, hopeful even.

“Teach you what?” Derek asks flabbergasted.

“How to fight...the self-defence stuff. You seem to be good at it. You seem to know what you are doing.”

“Well,” Derek looks around helplessly, cursing Erica and Isaac who are in their rooms changing, and not there helping him dealing with the curious kid. He is not exactly equipped to handle a strange and random kid suddenly hero-worshipping him after he almost snapped his spine. Derek winces at the memory and shakes his head at himself.

“You do train, right? All those muscles cannot be from beating up your cake batter.” Liam smiles again. The kid’s smile is so adorable that Derek has to stomp down the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“Yeah. I train.”

“What sort of exercise do you recommend?” It is Mason this time. 

“Why are you asking me all this?” Derek throws an exasperated glare at Mason. “You have your alpha who should guide you.”

“Yeah right.” Mason snorts. “Scott may be a deputy, but he is the most non-violent person, like ever.”

“So who told you I can be your substitute self-defence trainer?” Derek scowls.

“Dude, have you met you?” Mason indicates the whole of Derek. “You are ripped. Like I would take you for an alpha any day. And the way you threw a beta werewolf across the room like he weighs nothing that was some serious upper body strength right there.”

“Not to mention the fights at the club.”

“What do you know about the fights at the club?” Derek stiffens.

“Relax.” Liam snorts. “I had been to much worse fights than that. You only scared the human a bit. What did he do? He was ass to you too, right? Like me?”

Derek snorts out a surprised laughter.

“Yeah, he was being an ass.” He concedes. “And to answer your question, I run...a lot and I practice Tae Bo. Push-ups also help.”

By the time the five of them arrive at Deucalion’s mansion just outside the town, bordering on the Beacon Hills Preserve, Derek finds himself immersed in a heated discussion with Liam over the Karate Kid movies and why exactly according to Derek the Jackie Chan version sucks. Isaac and Erica, for some reason surrendered the passenger seat to the blonde kid and have been throwing Derek knowing smirks through the rear-view mirror while Mason has been driving the delivery van that contains the cake and the other baked items.

It hits Derek as soon as he steps out of the car - the combined scent of far too many alphas for his comfort - and it makes Derek’s hackles rise instantly. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a calming breath. He cannot hide from the world his entire life. He needs to face it head on and without coming across as a pathetic omega about to fall face-down or an overly aggressive wolf on the verge of losing his shit. He needs to hold his temper, his terror, his anticipation, his vulnerability, his guilt and all his repressed emotions in check and do the tight-rope walking of appearing pleasant to the complete strangers even while they blatantly check him out.

Derek can almost feel Erica and Isaac standing behind him and for a change they are absolutely quiet. Derek’s throat closes up for a moment in sheer, overwhelming gratitude. Erica places a hand on his arm.

“Let us do this.” Derek says and if his voice shakes a little, none of his companions calls him on it.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek knows it is almost too good to be true. Hell, call him a pessimist, but he has of late developed a sixth sense of some sort, this weird feeling in his bones alerting him something bad is about to happen.

It doesn’t surprise him that the cake is a massive hit. He is confident enough not to doubt his own skills. He had picked up all the tricks and nuances of baking from his father and his grandmother, especially the latter one and she was a hard taskmaster. He was barely ten when he baked his first vanilla sponge cake. His parents and siblings assured him it tasted like heaven, but his grandmother just pat him on his back and murmured quietly into his ears ‘don’t beat the batter so hard next time’.

Derek doesn’t even know why he took it up as a hobby and later as a profession. Probably because the smell of baking, the lazy motion of hands as he measures out the ingredients carefully, as he folds in the flour, drawing swirling designs on the cakes, experimenting with different flavours, cutting in the butter in the flour to make the perfect pie crust, he feels relaxed. He loses himself in the gentle and familiar rhythm and smells as they wrap around him like a warm blanket. He feels secure in the silence that is not filled with nightmares for a change. He feels like his family is close by, his mother hovering around, surreptitiously touching him time and again for she is almost always away from home with Laura for pack business and she misses Derek like hell. He can almost see his father sitting at the kitchen table, poring over the newspaper trying not to smile at his wife fussing over his son. He can visualise his grandparents out in the porch watching his cousins jostling and play-fighting with each other... Cora...dragging him away from the house by his wrist for a run through the preserve...

Cora, who is standing beside Deucalion, beaming at him in a way that Derek’s guts twist unpleasantly. The alpha is completely in his elements with one hand snaked around Cora’s narrow waist and the familiar white cane in the other as he introduces his adopted daughter to the charmed crowd of Beacon Hills.

His daughter!

Derek is NOT going to be sick.

“Derek!” Liam’s frightened voice cuts through the haze like a whiplash.

He realises he is starting to wolf out right in the middle of the room full of people, claws and fangs pushing themselves out through flesh.

Derek blinks and tries to focus at the alpha shaking his hand, patting on his back enthusiastically. She is about the twentieth person to do it and if some of them have batted their eyelashes at him a little bit enthusiastically or tried to sneak their phone numbers into the breast pocket of his jacket which he has politely declined, he is not complaining, much. Derek is surprised to note he has learnt to ignore the familiar twinge of panic at the amount of touching and attention showered on him. He is being deluged with praises and handshakes after the crowd pounced on the cake and other baked goodies laid down on the huge centre table. There are mini meringues and Florentines topped with chocolate sauce and tiramisu in transparent tea-cups and they are disappearing more quickly than he anticipated. He hasn’t even realised when Mason and Erica have taken over from him and are now cutting the cake into small pieces and serving the guests with welcoming smiles. Isaac is leaning against the table, flirting with a pretty brunette, Allison Argent, Derek recognises her in a flash, who is looking at Derek’s direction over Isaac’s shoulder, evidently trying to get past the determined beta to get to him. 

“...business card?”

Derek looks at the alpha blankly, trying his level best not to shake her hand off his shoulder.

“Sure Ma’am. We do have a business card.” Liam flashes a blinding smile, plonking Derek in the ribs with his elbow.

Derek takes out his wallet and hands his card to the elderly alpha without a word.

“Derek Hale!” The woman’s gaze sharpens in an instant and she looks at him like she is seeing him for the first time. “Talia and Eddie’s son?”

Derek raises his eyebrows in question. It is not the first time he has come across this reaction. His parents were in fact pretty renowned. Edmund Hale was a pioneer in the second generation omega liberation movement. His Ph. D. thesis on the history of how omegas gradually resorted to glorified sexual-partners from the confident beings who used to hold even more powerful position than the alphas in most cases in the pack hierarchy during the ancient times is still considered as one of the most insightful works on the subject.

Talia Hale was the elected Mayor of Beacon Hills for two terms straight before she relegated her position in favour of balancing two equally hectic jobs of being the alpha and the pack mother of her family and to work as the ambassador of the werewolf population in California. 

“I am Satomi.” The alpha smiles at Derek. “I don’t think you remember me, because I moved temporarily to my home country Japan when you were very little. But I used to visit your house often. Your mother was my best friend.”

“You are the one who used to send the funny-smelling tea from Japan.” He says and it is not a question. He can vividly remember her mother writing long letters (even in the era of electronic mails Talia Hale was stubbornly old-fashioned in some ways) on receiving a small package of tea and when badgered with questions by Derek she used to tell the story of this pack of werewolves who practised Buddhism and believed in non-violence and never harming a single living creature. 

“It was chamomile tea. But you were only three, I guess, the last time you saw me. How do you remember me?”

“I don’t.” Derek shakes his head ruefully. “But I remember the tea for I was the one who used to brew it for my mother. She would have a cup of it when she was tired and she tried to make dad and me drink it too.”

“Quite unsuccessfully I presume.” Satomi laughed.

“Yes.” Derek scrunches his nose. “It smelt really weird.”

“It builds up your immunity. It is especially good for werewolves.” Satomi says. Then she lowers her voice and whispers, “it is a closely guarded secret, but I would have you know it counters the effect of a number of herbs poisonous for us, wolfsbane, mistletoes to name a few.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Derek smiles genuinely at her. He is grateful she doesn't bring up the fire or doesn't offer condolences. He doesn't take condolences very well.

“I will send you a message so that you have my number too.” Satomi’s finger brushes over Derek’s phone number on the business card. Then she looks up and grins at him. “I knew you would grow into your looks but I must say you are absolutely stunning and quite successful too. Talia and Eddie would have been so proud.”

For the first time in his life after his family’s death Derek doesn’t feel embarrassed or has the urge to go and hide in the closet as somebody praises him. He beams back at Satomi, feeling his cheeks grow hot with a tell-tale blush, but he doesn’t feel one bit uncomfortable. In fact when Satomi pats him on his arm before moving away it momentarily feels like he is back in his childhood, when his mother would pinch his cheeks, call him the prettiest boy in the whole world and when aunt Emily, the family emissary, would hold him back by the scruff of his neck when he was about to step out of his house, dressed up for a party at a friend’s house and mumble spells against evil eyes against his ear.

Aunt Emily was out of Beacon Hills on pack-related business the day he had met Kate. 

When she had smiled at him across the room with the predatory glint in her eyes that terrified and excited Derek at the same time, there was no protective spell surrounding him. He was still grieving over Paige. He wondered how it would feel if even for a moment the heavy weight was lifted off his heart and if he gave in to oblivion. He was still young and he still had some will to live clinging to him like suds clinging to the sand even after the surf recedes, fragile and disappearing quickly under the harsh sun beating down the shoreline.

Kate proved to be a distraction alright.

“Derek,” Derek tries hard not to breathe through his nose, lest she smells like her. And Derek DOES NOT want to smell Kate Argent again, not now, not ever.

“I was hoping to talk to you.” Allison Argent stands in front of him, nipping her lower lip with pearly white teeth as if she is nervous.

Derek blinks at her, not sure what can she possibly want with him.

“I know you are probably reluctant to talk to me...” she trails off, glancing at Liam who is looking daggers at her, probably alerted by the rising wave of panic in Derek. Or maybe he remembers Derek fleeing from Scott’s house after a confrontation with Allison. At any rate, Derek would have been amused at the kid trying to protect him if his mind is not so busy juggling too many emotions at the same time. It is adorably disconcerting, given the fact that his alpha and Allison’s boyfriend, in fact is standing right at Allison’s heels, levelling an equally pissed off glare towards Derek.

“I would really rather not.” Derek says. Allison’s shoulders droop and she deflates visibly. Derek sighs. He doesn’t quite like to be the reason of putting that sad look in the girl’s eyes and so he adds hastily, “I mean not today. Tomorrow, maybe. I am sort of...um...in the middle of something.”

“Dude, the only thing you have been doing is standing here staring into the space and letting people fawn all over you.” Scott says irritably. “Mason and Erica are doing all the servings.”

“He baked all those things they are serving.” Liam defends him hotly. Derek suppresses a smile at the incredulous look crossing over Scott’s features.

“Now you are in his team too?”

“Derek is cool.” Liam shrugs. “He can mimic Neo’s dialogues from Matrix verbatim. He gets all my horror movie references. He has watched ‘The Exorcist’ fifteen times.”

“That beats my record.” Stiles pipes up from behind Scott. “I have watched it thirteen times. It makes some sort of poetic sense.”

Of fucking course he is here! It is a party in which all wolf packs of Beacon Hills are invited and Derek has already spotted him dancing with Cora in his uniquely uncoordinated way. Something must be seriously wrong with him that he finds it cute. Or maybe it is Stiles’ exuberant personality for Cora too was grinning ear to ear.

“Ten.” Liam grins.

“You guys are all weirdos!” Scott shakes his head fondly.

“But you love us.” Stiles drapes a hand over Scott’s shoulder.

Derek looks at the said hand and then at Stiles. He wants to rip Scott off Stiles and the urge is so strong that he is surprised he can hold himself back.

“Really?” Scott looks at him, exasperated.

“What?” Derek tries for nonchalance.

“You are so damn pathetic.” Scott says, but he doesn’t seem to mean it as an insult. He sounds downright amused.

Derek is about to retort with something suitably insulting when there is a hand on his shoulder and it FEELS different. Derek’s hackles are raised in an instant and he whirls round, ready to snap at whoever it is.

“Derek,” Deucalion croons with a familiarity that sends Derek’s teeth grinding against each other. “I have something urgent to discuss with you. Alone.”

“I am sorry.” Derek says stonily, shaking the hand off his shoulder. Kali standing beside Deucalion bristles visibly, but Deucalion doesn’t look one bit fazed. “The only interaction I am going to have with your pack will be with Braeden.”

Deucalion smiles, sharp, even rows of teeth glistening under the fluorescent. 

“I thought you would be interested to meet the only surviving member of your family other than yourself.”

Derek’s eyes couldn’t help but follow Cora navigating confidently among the guests, striking up conversations, doling out measured smiles and handshakes, like the true daughter of a politician that she is.

“Ok.” His voice comes out in a harsh whisper. He looks over at Erica who stares right back at him.

“Don’t,” Isaac mouthed, standing beside her, looking at Deucalion with barely concealed hostility.

Derek tries to give them a reassuring smile, but he knows it ultimately ends up in a grimace.

“Where?” Derek asks with clenched jaw.

“There is a red door somewhere. Pardon me, I am not good at giving direction.” Deucalion smirks. 

Derek rolls his eyes at the theatricality.

“Well, can you see it?” 

Derek looks around and spots the door on the other end of the hall. There are two tall, blond guys on either side of the door. Both have their hands crossed over their chests and they look identical. One of them blocked Derek’s path when he was chasing after Cora in the nightclub.

“I can see it.” Derek says reluctantly.

“Good. Come over there. I will be waiting for you.” With that Deucalion walks away with Kali guiding him through the crowd.

“Derek,” Scott suddenly shoots out a hand to grab Derek by the wrist as he is about to follow Deucalion. “Do you want us to come with you?”

“Why?” Derek turns round, puzzled. He is under the impression Scott doesn’t like him very much.

Scott gives out a frustrated huff.

“I don’t...” he scratches the back of his head and looks at Stiles who looks back at him, clearly enjoying Scott's discomfiture.

“Well, I just don’t trust you, ok?” Scott says finally. “Beside the fact that your eyes flash blue, you are arrogant and you are kind of an asshole.”

“Hey,” Stiles protests. Derek doesn’t let his heart warm up at the idea that Stiles cares for him enough to be indignant on his behalf.

“It is ok.” Derek shrugs. “You are not wrong, but I really don’t care what you think about me.”

“See, there you go again.” Scott says irritably. “You make it do very difficult to like you.”

“Who told you to like me?” Derek retorts. He is quickly losing his patience with this boy and he doesn’t need this before facing Deucalion and learning the truth about Cora.

“It is like you want to be alone...like you want to push people away.” Scott mutters.

“I am so glad that you finally get me,” Derek says sarcastically. “Now if you please I have some personal business to attend.”

“No.” Scott says mulishly.

“No!” Derek raises one eyebrow.

“Let us come with you.” Scott drops his voice a several octave. “I...I don’t like the vibe rolling off that man. It was like...” Scott trails off and shakes his head.

“Never mind, Stiles and I are coming with you. Tell him he would let us accompany you or you wouldn’t talk.”

“Did you not hear him when he said he wants to meet me alone!”

“Nope, not happening.” Stiles shakes his head vigorously. “If you are going through that red door, we are coming with you.”

“But...”

“You can invoke your basic citizen’s right.” Stiles says. “As per Omega Rights no. five you are perfectly entitled to be accompanied by an alpha when you are meeting with another alpha.”

Stiles knows it is exactly the wrong thing to say even before he finishes the sentence, because Derek will be the last omega on earth who will take help from an alpha even if his life depends upon it, and even then he probably wouldn’t.

“I think I will take my chances. Thank you.” Derek says icily and turns on his heels to get away from the bunch.

He knows it is a bad idea as soon as he steps inside the room, ignoring the glares from the twins guarding the door.

It looks like an office, though a very ostentatious one, furnished with dark wooden furniture and heavy velvet curtains. The walls were a shade of moss green and adorned with paintings. Deucalion was sitting at the desk in a high-back chair with Kali and a bulky and a dark-skinned guy standing on both sides of him.

Derek recognises him instantly from the newspaper cutting that Peter showed him.

Enis.

Derek swallows down the flood of emotions, but cannot do anything about the burn behind his eyes.

“Derek Hale.” Deucalion clasps his hands in front of him. “I am glad to see you again.”

Derek sits down in one of the plush chairs facing Deucalion.

“So very brave of you to take up my offer even though you are clearly uncomfortable in my presence.”

Derek is not sure if Deucalion means the birthday party order or his offer for a private discussion.

“I thought you wanted to meet me alone.” Derek casts a withering look at the direction of his two cronies.

Both Enis and Kali growl under their breath.

Derek raises an eyebrow. It will take much more than growls to faze him. Though Enis and Kali look scary enough, they have nothing on Kate, if she chooses to be scary.

Derek represses a shudder as he feels a phantom sting across his back, the kind of sting caused by the heavy metal buckle of a leather belt.

“Forgive them.” Deucalion smiles. “They are both alphas and are not used to such tone from am omega.”

“They can take off if they like.” Derek says casually. “I will not miss them much.”

“Oh Derek,” Deucalion heaves a put-upon sigh. “You are aggravating as much as you are enticing. I would love to have it your way, but you see, in this case you are not in a position to negotiate.”

“Why is that?”

“Because we have your sister.”

Derek knows they have his sister, he has seen it in his own eyes, but the truth hasn’t quite sunk in until Deucalion says those actual words.

“You have adopted her.” He remarks tonenessly. 

“Yes.”

“How? Why?”

“I found her by her scent, at the border of the preserve, not very far from here.” Deucalion says with a nostalgic smile. “I took her away from here for she needed the distance. She was traumatised, trying to break free from a burning house while her parents were still trapped in there.”

“Why didn’t you inform us?” Derek couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. “Laura and I...we were...”

“Neither of you were in a position to take her responsibility.” Deucalion retorts back. “I did you both a favour by giving her a stable home,” he looks at Derek’s direction and even though his eyes are unseeing, Derek has a feeling he is looking right into his eyes, “a stable pack.”

It almost breaks Derek’s heart to realise Deucalion is right. Both Laura and him, they were not quite a functional pack. They were the survivors of a shipwreck, barely holding on. They were hardly fit to take care of each other let alone a traumatised nine-year old.

He gets it, though it doesn’t make it easy. But if he is sure of one thing, it is that he knows there is a catch at the end. Deucalion is a politician and he is sure to have some hidden agenda.

“So why does she refuse to acknowledge me now.” Derek gets straight to the point. His throat closes up momentarily thinking back on how she looked at him when he first entered the huge hall decorated with banners, papier mache lanternrs and wreaths.

It was better if she looked at him like she didn’t recognise him.

But it was not like that.

She looked at him...exactly like she is looking at him right now.

Derek hasn’t even heard the door opening and closing softly and before he can prepare himself, Cora is standing in front of him, in a ridiculously beautiful green dress, that reflects the green in her eyes (they have similar eyes and similar thick dark hair and similar high cheekbones, Derek sadly notes).

Cora is looking at him like one would look at a cold-blooded killer.

She would be right.

Derek had emerged out of his room seven days after Paige had died not because Talia had finally let him. She had unlocked the door on the second night itself when he had heard her son whimpering and rushed inside to see Derek had clawed his wrists open in his sleep. It was Derek who had refused to come out of his room, even for food. What prompted him to bolt out of the house was the jolt he received upon seeing his eyes flash blue in the bathroom mirror after Peter had knocked on his door and whispered to him about a particular piece of news, an information Talia probably had no wish to break to her son any time soon.

As soon as he heard it, Derek wholeheartedly believed, even though Paige had died from wolfsbane bullets far away in London, he was the one who had actually killed her.

Derek could as well have snapped her neck, putting her out of her suffering (and there was no doubt she suffered for wolfsbane slowly spreads through your body, poisoning the organs one by one, suffocating the victims in their own blood), when they hid in the root cellar below the Nemeton.

It might as well be him holding her deadbody in his arms, right there, where Paige had begged him not to let Enis take her away, had pledged how she loved Derek and that she wouldn’t be able to live without him.

Derek had no doubt in his mind who had killed her.

His belief was enough to turn his eyes blue, the ice-cold colour that marked him as a killer, the taker of an innocent life.

Now his baby sister, all grown up, standing tall and proud, is looking at him with evident distaste.

“I hate you.” Cora spits at him. “Deucalion told me everything. He told me how you were the one who was responsible for the fire.”

Derek couldn’t help the involuntary full-body jerk.

“What!” He knows what Cora is saying is true, but it is the first time somebody else is actually throwing the accusation at him and he is left open-mouthed and stunned.

“I know about Kate Argent.” Cora’s eyes flash golden. “I know my parents are dead because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. I know after Paige you took a lover again like you were apparently not satisfied with one life destroyed.” She sneered.

“Then you had to go and wreck my life as well.”

“Cora...” Derek stands up and takes a step towards her.

“There were children Derek.” Cora is not even remotely done. Her eyes are still flashing a dangerous gold and she is looking beautiful like this, so fierce and strong. She is not like him, stilted and awkward, he realises with a pang. She is like a phoenix that has risen from the ashes. She has left it behind her and though she is hurt and angry, she is coping, way better than him. Some part of Derek’s heart thanks Deucalion for it.

“I know.” He says helplessly and hangs his head.

What else is there to say?

“Was she worth it?” Cora asks, quieter now, but not less venomous.

Derek meets her eyes this time.

“Nothing worth it.” He replies. “Nothing.” He insists.

Cora’s face crumples and Derek is instantly in front of her, hands hovering near her face, fingers itching to brush the tears away. 

“Don’t,” Cora almost growls at him. “Don’t.” She shakes his head.

Derek nods to himself.

Ok...ok...he completely understands.

To her he is the reason her world was turned upside down. He is the reason she has to seek shelter to a strange, power-hungry alpha who uses people as his pawns.

She has every reason to hate him.

But it hurts nonetheless. Derek inhales her scent hungrily. She smells like pack, like Laura, like Peter...like his mother. Derek has almost forgotten how it is like. Cora takes a step back abruptly.

“Cora,” Derek tries again with his hand hanging midair, helpless in his need to touch, to soothe, to seek comfort. She is pack Goddamnit. She is...he just needs...he just...his baby sister who dragged him by his hands and ran beside him with sun pouring down through the leaves...and he would happily give his life for just one touch from her.

“I am sorry.” Cora wipes her tears away and her face is set in a fierce scowl. “I will never forgive you.”

Derek nods again. He is doing it quite a lot.

“I understand.” He says and turns away to leave. He is sure the meeting is over. He doesn’t really see the point of it, but at least his sister is doing ok.

“Sit down Derek.”

He turns back with a frown.

“My dear, would you please leave us alone for a minute?” Deucalion tilts his head in Cora’s direction.

“Sure.” She kisses him on the cheek as he pats her fondly on the arm. 

Derek’s eyes follow his sister until she disappears behind the door without a backward glance.

“So, that went well.”

Derek cannot help snorting out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, you can say that.” He says. “So what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.” Deucalion raises his shoulders, trying to look innocent. “Why would you assume I want something?”

“Because you do.” Derek folds his arms across his chest. 

“You don’t even know me.”

“And I intend to stay it that way.”

“Oh don’t be such a sourwolf.”

Derek belatedly realises he is staring at Deucalion with his mouth hanging open.

“It is a nice name. It fits you perfectly.” Deucalion relaxes back into his chair having caught his attention effectively. “Only if the boy’s self-preservation instinct is as strong as his humour.”

“What!”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. It is not a good look on you.”

Derek blinks and casts a look at the door, behind which Stiles is enjoying with his friends, dancing and partying without a care in the world.

Derek’s chest hurts.

“You keep him out of this.”

“Only if you play by the rules.”

Derek is struck dumb again.

Deucalion removes his dark glasses. His pupils are dull grey and his eyes seem unseeing, but Derek has a feeling he is staring right at him. He feels the hair on his neck rise up in attention.

“Will you play by the rules, Talia Hale’s son?” Deucalion smirks.

Derek lets the disgust wash over him, making Deucalion reel back in his chair.

“Oh,” he says. “So that is how you want to play?”

“I don’t want to play at all.” Derek shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Deucalion. “I am not interested in your fucking games.”

“But you are already in it.” Deucalion croons happily. “Whether you realise or not, I am holding all the cards here.”

“I.am.not.interested.” Derek grinds each word out of his throat.

“I wonder what WILL catch your interest.” Deucalion spins his walking stick between his fingers. “Her deadbody?”

Derek lunges across the table.


	12. Chapter 12

“No I am not giving him a mouth to mouth. It will not be good for my sanity. YOU do it.”

Derek tenses up feeling the unfamiliar hands pressing down the middle of his chest and wants to wiggle free, but his lungs are on fire and he needs to breathe. He gulps the air like a drowning man and is rewarded for his efforts by a severe bout of cough that nearly chokes him again. He tries to sit up, but strong hands pin him down.

“No sourwolf. You don’t get to stir from there until I check your vitals.”

Derek wants to die.

Of course it is Stiles again, a second time within a span of thirty days, trying to raise him from the land of dead.

He really, truly wants to die...of mortification or of pain.

Wait...pain.

An involuntary whimper escapes from his mouth as the fabric of his shirt rubs against the raw skin at his back, right over his kidney. He finally remembers the cattle prods. They bore down on him before he could lay a finger on Deucalion of course. What a pity, for Derek would suffer through them gladly if only he could feel Deucalions blood under his claws. Unfortunately the shock knocked him down just when his claws were about to come to contact with Deucalion’s throat and made him fall in a shivering heap on the ground.

Ten thousand volts tend to do that to werewolves, though it was not exactly unfamiliar to Derek, thanks to Kate!

And with that he is back in the blue room again, the place he wants to burn out of his memory, with acid.

...

“How much can you take for your alpha, Derek?” Kate whispers in his ear.

He is kneeling down in the middle of the room with Kate circling him, her fingers grazing his bare skin.

“Answer me!” She yells. Derek flinches. Kate bends down and grips his chin. “Sorry dove. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She places a tender kiss on his forehead.

“I get impatient when you don’t answer me.” Kate smoothens down his hair with both hand. “You need to answer me.”

Derek is still silent.

“Derek,” she sighs. “You know the condition. Remember we set them up together. I need to punish you if you disobey me.”

Derek flinches again.

“I don’t like the pain.” Derek finally whispers. 

“Pain?” Kate’s brow arches and there is a sudden steel in her voice.

“Th-the p-punishments.” Derek stutters.

“Oh, but sweetheart,” Kate cups his face and makes him look into her eyes. “That is the rule of the game. You need it or else you will not heal. It is all about pleasure and pain. The balance lies when they are doled out in equal measures, don’t you see? It is not because I want to hurt you. Oh no. I would never, ever hurt you. You believe that right?”

Derek looks deep into her eyes. They shine with compassion and love and acceptance. He never thought anybody else would be able to love him or accept him again after Paige, but the miracle is Kate does. Beneath it all, Derek is sure Kate loves him and knows the best for him.

“Yes.” He says simply.

“You do feel numb after I punish you don’t you?” Kate asks knowingly rubbing her face against his cheek. “You feel like your mind is a blank space and you let go of everything, your guilt, your memories, your hold on the reality and there is this vacuum that devours you whole and you get a moment’s respite from everything that torments you. Does it not?” Kate’s voice is hypnotic against his ear.

“Yes. Yes.” He closes his eyes. “Yes it does.”

Kate straightens up and walks around him to stand behind him again.

“See,” She smiles. “Your alpha knows the best.”

The prodder catches him off-guard for Kate’s voice has lulled him into a sense of false security.

He writhes on the ground for sometime before passing out. When he comes round his head is in Kate’s lap and she is wiping off the sweat on his face ever so gently with a damp cloth.

“Welcome back Derek.” She smiles down at him. “Now that we got past the pain, we will see what we can do about the pleasure.”

Derek wants to scream at her. He wants to push himself up and run and never look back, only there is this black hole of despair waiting for him and he is utterly lost without her. There is nothing that makes any sense any more. He hurts all the time anyway, even without the whips and the blades and the cattle prod and worst of all the red hot iron (Derek still remembers crying and pleading with Kate that she used anything but that, but Kate had just smiled and insisted she needed to brand Derek for her own and it is for Derek’s good anyway for doesn’t he want to be owned and Derek did, he did want to belong to somebody so desperately that she had let Kate burn her own name on his back).

He has killed his first love, the bravest and purest and the most beautiful creature he has ever seen and he has the eyes of a killer and even his own siblings have lost hopes of his every recovering from the shock and have quit trying. His parents have left him alone thinking he needs time to recover and that he needs space. 

They are not wrong for he does need space. But nowadays, space is the only thing that he has. He is occupying some, uselessly.

So he had gone with Kate when she had crooked her finger and beckoned him closer.

He let her claim him and followed her home. 

His mother knew as soon as he came home in the morning. She threw a fit, saying he was underage and he couldn’t do it. His father moved to court, even though he didn’t stand a chance. After all, the rules and laws were all on the side of an alpha who has lain claim on an willing omega, underage or not.

Derek shut everybody out.

Except Kate.

For she takes him to the extremes. She knows how to make him come out of the haze that surrounds him that strangely smells like death, like his body is going on while his mind is completely still and numb.

She opens her arms for him, knowing he is damaged and broken, knowing what the colour of his eyes is, whispering promises and understanding and love...unconditional love.

And the blue room, at Kate’s luxurious apartment at downtown.

“It is not going to be easy.” Kate had warned him. “I am going to take from you as I am going to give you back.”

“What can you give me?” Derek had asked her, curious.

Kate had taken his face in her hands and answered with a bruising kiss that had left him panting. He had never felt anything like it before for all the romping around with Paige who was just as shy as he was, he was still a virgin.

“The edge of oblivion.” She had smirked up at his dazed eyes.

Derek didn’t even have his eyes closed when he fell off the precipice...

...

“Derek...Derek, please open your eyes for me!”

No, go away, Derek wants to fight it, only if he can move his bloody hands. Kate is dead, trapped in the fire that she had started in the first place, burnt to ashes right along with her victims.

“Derek, sweetheart...” Somebody is shaking him.

No, just no!

His back is burning again.

“A little more, sweetheart...” Kate purrs against his ear as she pins him down under her. “A little more pain for your alpha.”

Derek screams and everything goes dark again.

...

“You cannot do it to him. It was not his fault.”

Derek squints against the light and tries to sit up. The first obvious thing he notices is that he is inside a holding cell and that he has been lying on the floor. At least somebody was considerate enough to cover him with a warm blanket and place a bottle of water beside his head.

Derek rests his back against the wall and empties the bottle in three gulps.

Immediately outside his cell Stiles and Scott seem to be having a heated argument with Chris Argent.

“I am sorry kid.” Argent is stony-faced as always. “I told him he has a real possibility of crossing over to the red zone. I wish for once in his life he would listen!”

“He needs medical attention.” Stiles gesticulates at him. “They electrocuted him, for God knows how long, even after he had passed out. They were still doing it when we barged in.”

Chris Argent’s pale blue eyes rove over Derek who draws the blanket closer around him.

“I am sure he will live.” He finally remarks blandly.

Derek rolls his eyes. 

“’He’ would like to know what warranted the holding cell.” He speaks up. His voice is a bit scratchy, probably from all that screaming. “Not that I don’t appreciate the hospitality.”

“You attacked an alpha in the middle of a party.” Chris Argent raises an eyebrow at him. “And you have the audacity to ask what you have done to warrant an arrest?”

“Technically I will be the one with the authority to arrest.”

Everybody turns in unison as a handsome middle-aged man in sheriff’s uniform comes forward and Stiles and Scott make way for him, looking immensely relieved.

“Hello, Derek,” the man smiles at Derek. He has a kindly face, though a bit worn around the edges. “I am John Stilinski and I think it is time we formally meet.”

Derek’s eyes snap to Stiles who is fidgeting by his father’s side.

“Dad, they cannot keep him here, can they?” He asks, sounding so hopeful that Derek kind of feels bad for Stiles for he knows the next words coming out of the sheriff’s mouth.

“I am afraid they can.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “Attacking an alpha, that too one who cannot defend himself for his physical impairment...”

“Bullshit.” Stiles pretty much yells. “I am sure he has said something to provoke him. I am sure there is an explanation.”

“Well it is for the RWCB to decide.” Chris Argent quips. “Until then...”

“Until then Derek can stay at a secure place.” The sheriff looks at Chris, right into the eyes. “Any secure place for that matter and it doesn’t have to be a holding cell.”

Chris Argent scowls at him.

“What do you have in mind?”

“He can be at home...”

Argent is about to open his mouth when the sheriff holds up one finger to stop him. “With my deputy posted outside his apartment to avoid any attempt to escape the law.”

“It is ok.” Derek blurts out. “I am ok here. You don’t need to send any deputies to my home.”

Isaac’s father was a cop and he was an abusive asshole. Isaac is terrified of cops or more accurately a person wearing a police uniform for his father used to love to beat him up while still wearing the uniform.

That is the reason Isaac and Erica are not at the police station. Derek knows his friends well. He knows Isaac is freaking out somewhere outside and Erica is talking nonsense to him to take his mind off it while both are panicking over him together.

“Ok.” The sheriff is a bit taken aback and Stiles looks at him with narrowed eyes.

Derek just avoids them all and buries his face in between his knees. He is still bone-weary from the shock and it still hurts like hell. But above everything, he allows himself a silent freak-out.

The implications of Chris Argent's words are finally catching up with him.

...

“Hey,” Derek shakes off the drowsiness and looks up. He hasn't even realised when he has drifted off to sleep. Stiles and Scott were still there along with the sheriff and Chris Argent, all engrossed in some deep discussion. But there was an addition to the crowd in the form of a very pretty strawberry blond girl kneeling down on the ground on the other side of the bars. The girl is human and she looks friendly enough, though there is something in her green eyes that indicates she is far older and wiser than her actual age.

She smiles at him when he looks up.

“Hi,” Derek returns timidly. The girl is petite but somehow very intimidating. She reminds him of Laura.

“Let me introduce myself properly which I am sure these two knuckleheads have completely bypassed.” The girl glares at Scott and Stiles and the two alphas seem to shrink down a little, making themselves as small as possible.

“I am Lydia Martin. I am a banshee and the pack emissary.” She extends a soft manicured hand at Derek through the bars who scoots forward and shakes it somewhat dazedly. 

Pack emissaries usually never reveal themselves to people outside the pack.

“I see you have already met Liam and that he has already imprinted on you...”

“Imprinted?” Derek’s eyebrow arches up.

“Well little Liam is like a puppy or more appropriately a duckling. He likes to attach himself with a person and remains loyal to him for the rest of his life. Just ask Scott.”

“I don’t have him anymore.” Scott grumbles. “Derek has stolen him.”

“Maybe it is his winning personality.” Stiles pats Scott on the back, consolingly. “Or his biceps, probably his biceps.”

Derek glares at Stiles, though his cheeks heat up remembering throwing Liam across the room. He is thankful Stiles has no clue how close he is to the truth.

“Stiles, stop objectifying Derek and do something useful.” Lydia chides. “You are making him uncomfortable.”

“Oh no.” Stiles chirps. “Derek loves when I flirt with him. Don’t you grumpy pants?”

“Call me grumpy pants again and I will rip your throat out.” Derek growls. “With my teeth.”

“Oh my God.” Lydia claps her hands gleefully. “I love him. Can I keep him? We are keeping him. Right?” She looks over at Scott.

“I am not a pet.” Derek grumbles.

“Oh who needs a pet when I can get an adorable omega who can rip Stiles a new one or dares to punch Boyd in the face.” She looks at him with a new glint in her eyes and Derek is suddenly thankful there are iron bars between them for she looks second away from pinching his cheeks.

“Yeah that was kind of cool.” Scott concedes.

Derek looks up at Scott incredulously and shakes his head. First, Mason and Liam, then Lydia and finally Scott, these people not only think it is ok for him to lose his temper, they take it in their stride and make it sound like it is something normal.

“You know there is something wrong with you people.” He shakes his head. 

“Why?” Scott asks, puzzled.

“You should actually be angry on Boyd’s behalf. He is a part of your pack.”

“You are also a part of my pack.”

The incredulity must have shown on Derek’s face for Scott backtracks. “I mean if you want to. You kind of feel pack.”

“Since when?”

“Since the time we broke into your apartment.” Scott scratches the back of his head. “I was trying to deny it for frankly you kind of make it a bit hard to like you, with all your...” he gestures to Derek’s general direction.

“You just pointed to all of me.” Derek deadpans.

“Dude, did you just quote ‘How to train you dragon’?” Scott pretty much beams at him.

“He totally did.” Stiles smiles like a proud parent. “Anyways, coming back to the point of being a part of our pack...”

Stiles sits down beside Lydia as well. 

“Please consider it carefully Derek.” Stiles is suddenly serious. “I know your first instinct is to say no.”

Derek averts his eyes guiltily. He knows what Scott and Stiles are offering, but he doesn’t want to be a charity case. Also, he doesn’t want to be a part of a pack to save his ass, the exact thing Stiles is thinking as is clear from the next sentence out of his mouth.

“If you end up being a red zoner then you need a pack to at least show the world that you have got a support system to ground or anchor you.”

“You mean to say I use your pack to get RWCB off my back?” Derek asks Stiles.

Stiles grimaces. 

“No, I am asking you to join our pack for good. Because we would be honoured to have you with us.”

Derek is stunned to silence. For the first time in a few years, he considers his words carefully before saying something hasty. He still doesn’t like the idea. Pack means safety, but pack also means bowing down to an alpha, two in this case. The banshee, Lydia seems to be a class of his own and then there are so many other strangers that he will be compelled to interact with for Pack means family and togetherness. Pack is not for the loners.

He is most definitely a loner and he likes to stay that way. 

Then there is Allison Argent, mate to the alpha himself.

Derek closes his eyes briefly and tries to fight down a bout of nausea. He is probably not being fair to Allison but he is intimately familiar with the rest of her family and they had caused him nothing but pain so far.

“I will think about it.” He finally says and Stiles’ face fell. 

Derek’s heart lurches painfully and he wants to reach out, do something to wipe the look on his face. Then suddenly he remembers Deucalion’s words and his not-so-subtle threats to Stiles. No he cannot do it to Scott and Stiles and their beautiful pack. Whatever he touches, gets destroyed. He cannot bring his tainted self to this pack made up of these innocent and utterly good people. 

Suddenly, it comes back like a flood, his meeting with Deucalion and his final words.

“Cora...” he is suddenly scrambling up to his feet. Lydia, Stiles and Scott look at him in alarm. “Is Cora ok? I need to know if –”

“Your sister is ok.” 

“Jennifer?” Derek frowns. “What are you doing here?”

Miss Blake walks forward with Sheriff Stilinski in tow.

“I have come to take you out of here.” She huffs. “You don’t belong to a holding cell.”

Stiles and Scott eye her dubiously, not sure what to make of her.

“Derek, Miss Blake here has signed off a personal guarantee that you would be present at the hearing at RWCB Head Quarter tomorrow.” The sheriff speaks up. 

“So am I free to go?” Derek asks, still a bit bewildered. 

“Not quite. You still need to be under supervision until you turn up at RWCB.” The sheriff sighs. “Miss Blake here has volunteered to do that. You can go with her if you want to.”

“You are free to stay at my house,” Jennifer says. “IF and only if you are comfortable with it.” She emphasises.

“We can also discuss the further course of action or how best you can defend yourself against whatever accusation they are heaping on you.” 

Derek bites down his lip, considering his options while Stiles drags Sheriff to a corner and Lydia and Scott follow them. 

“I don’t like it,” Stiles whispers furiously. Jennifer will not be able to hear it for she is human, but Derek can hear it clear enough. He would have felt bad for eavesdropping, but then they have been talking about him, so in a way he has every right. 

“Why can’t we offer a guarantee? We can have Derek at Scott’s house. We can all be with him.”

“Son,” the sheriff says tiredly, “she is his therapist. She is empanelled at RWCB. She has the authority other than RWCB itself or the police to supervise a possible red-zoner.”

“But...”

“Derek, you let me know what you decide.” The sheriff walks away with Stiles and others following him. Stiles continues to argue with him all the way. Derek stares after Stiles’ retreating form. Has he already fallen too deep before realising it? Well, who is he kidding? Of course he has!

“Derek,” Jennifer holds the bars and looks him into the eyes, waking him up from his reverie. “I cannot even begin to imagine what is going on in your head. This is a pretty fucked up situation. But I believe in you. You are going to get out of here.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Derek admits, quietly.

“It is ok.” Jennifer says. Her eyes are soft and sympathetic. “You are only human, well so to speak.” She laughs softly. “Sometimes you need your friends to fight some battles for you. Sometimes you just need to let go.”

“Trust me you wouldn’t want to be my friend.” 

“Why is that?”

Derek sighs.

“Everybody around me...everybody gets hurt.” Derek shakes his head. “I cannot do anything about it. It is just...I cannot drag you into this too.”

“Derek, I am already into this.” Jennifer says. “I am your therapist and I am not going to let them shove you into the red zone. On top of that I am your friend too and so it is personal now.”

“But...”

“No, let us just get out of here.” Jennifer looks around. “This place is giving me the creeps. I cannot imagine you stuck here for two days. Come on. Don’t do it to yourself.”

“Ok,” Derek finally hears himself say it.

“Good, I will let the sheriff know.” Jennifer beams at him. “And maybe we can pick up your roommates too. I bet you will feel more comfortable with them around you.”

“Why,” Derek chokes a bit before getting out the full sentence. He clears his throat. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you need to start to have a little faith.” Jennifer smiles. 

...

“Still nothing?” Jennifer asks worriedly.

“No,” Derek replies grimly, sticking his phone back into his jeans pocket. He is getting really pissed. They must have good reasons, but he just cannot think of one that both Isaac and Erica’s phones are switched off. Probably the idiots have failed to charge them, again. Any other possibility is so dreadful that he cannot even think of entertaining them.

“Well, at least you are out of the damn holding cell.” She says unlocking the door of her house. “And now we need to find ways so that you don’t slip into red.”

Derek steps into the familiar living room which doubles up as a clinic and the door closes behind him with an audible click. Derek whirls round and finds himself alone. He frowns and walks up to the door. 

"Jennifer?" He calls out, trying to turn the door knob.

 

It is locked from the outside.


	13. Chapter 13

‘Attitude Adjustment and Correction Facility, Beacon County’

Derek has two seconds to read the grey letters embossed on the brick sign before the car rolls inside the gate that slides sideways to let them in. There is another identical gate that opens only after the previous one has been locked behind them, caging the van temporarily.

At least there are no handcuffs.

Derek takes in the surroundings. Lawns in geometric patterns criss-crossed with metalled roads lined with trees, oaks and pines mostly, single-storey building blocks painted in a monotonous white that gleam unnaturally in the floodlight illuminating the entire campus with an aggressive ferocity. Finally, his eyes fall on something that he should have been prepared to see all along, but for some stupid reason it feels like a punch to the gut. It is a watchtower, around fifteen meters high, as simple and bare in design as the nondescript building blocks. 

So much for the illusion of a semi-medical facility, sort of a rehab, as the Sheriff assured him back at the RWCB head quarter where his case was summarily heard and disposed twelve hours after the scheduled time.

Derek apparently missed his hearing, but that was the least of his worries.

Jennifer Blake was missing, presumed dead, by the amount of dried blood that was found near the front door of her house.

When she didn’t turn up at the hearing along with Derek the hunters were alerted as per the procedure. The Argents, father and daughter, had found Derek more than five miles away from Miss Blake’s house, hiding behind a dumpster, dazed and wolfed out, apparently having no memory of how he ended up there. 

His hands and his shirt was crimson with blood, both fresh and dried. And of course Derek had snarled at them when they had tried to coax him out of the corner that he had backed into and of course an arrow had been shot, as a warning and of course when Derek hadn’t calm down the next one had lodged itself into his leg. Figures. It would stop him from running.

Darts have been proven ineffectual while dealing with a feral werewolf before and so Argents wouldn’t take chance, especially in a residential locality like this. Derek was lucid enough by now to understand, except for it fucking hurt.

The tip of the arrow was coated with sedative and it worked through his system quickly enough, making him lower his defense. The Argent girl advanced on him first, despite the low warning growls that were still emanating from his throat. Derek noted, disenchanted, she had put down her weapon on the ground and was sticking her hands in air as if saying ‘see I come in peace’ or something. Derek wanted to let out a scoff. It might be his imagination, but in the pretext of pulling out the arrow (which she did in a swift, powerful motion and Derek would have been grateful for the small mercy if he was not busy trying to hold down a scream) Allison bent her dark head and murmured a hushed ‘sorry’ into his ear. That was before her father marched up to them and hauled Derek up roughly by his shirt. Allison wrapped his arm around her shoulder and her other hand went around his waist, bearing half his weight easily. The hunters start training their young ones since twelve. Derek knows it from Kate. So it shouldn’t be so surprising. Chris was on his other side and between the two they had no difficulty to get him inside their dark SUV parked nearby. Derek could do nothing but let a small whine escape his throat at all the manhandling but was ultimately thankful that he was too drugged up to think straight.

It was probably co-incidental that Stiles lived three buildings down the line.

The sheriff was already there waiting for them as the Argents had swiftly deposited Derek, who had regained his motor-control within seven minutes of getting shot, at RWCB Head Quarter. The two agents had stood beside him wordlessly as the Sheriff had read him his rights before snapping the handcuffs on his wrists. Derek couldn't make out the expression on the man's face for it was nothing but carefully neutral.

He was under arrest, formally, under the Rogue Werewolf Control Act which gives RWCB arbitrary power over him.

The hearing took place in a room with no windows. Gerard Argent was on the other side of the huge desk that took up a good portion of the room. As one of the senior-most special agents and the current Deputy Director of the California branch of RWCB, he was the one to hear and dispose Derek’s case.

The first and only witness was Braeden who showed Gerard Argent the three vicious claw marks on one side of her face and neck which was still bleeding sluggishly. She paled visibly when asked if it was Derek who did it. She nodded jerkily, avoiding looking directly into Derek’s eyes and slipped away from the room soundlessly as soon as the questioning was over.

Then there was the report of a violent brawl at a local bar by a reporter called Matt Daehler. 

Finally, there was the matter of the attempted attack on Deucalion.

Derek sat patiently throughout the hearing, his eyes boring a hole on the ground. He felt Gerard’s icy stare on him and the Sheriff’s neutral one. He let himself zone out after some time for he knew it was a given fact that his fate was already sealed.

“Derek...please answer the question.”

Derek looked up at the sheriff who was looking at him with what could be interpreted as concern if Derek had the energy to analyse it. Derek had a feeling the Sheriff had been calling his name for quite sometime.

“What...” he cleared his throat. “What is the question again?”

“Do you admit to do any of these?”

“I have no idea what happened to Jennifer and I have never seen Braeden in my life. I have only talked to her over the phone.” Derek stated. “But it doesn’t really matter is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter, Derek?” Gerard Argent asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you have already decided.”

“Well, that is hardly fair.” Gerard said mildly. “We at RWCB take extreme care to go through the proper procedure before evaluating every werewolf. At the end whatever we decide is for you own good.”

Derek laughed humourlessly. “If only I had a penny for every time I have heard those exact words in my life.”

“Derek,” the sheriff suddenly broke in. “Can you tell us exactly what happened after you were released?”

“Jennifer took me to her home. I tried to call my friends who never answered the phone. I went inside...” Derek trailed off, uncertain.

“And?” The sheriff prompted.

Derek shook his head. “I am sorry, I cannot remember.”

“Can it be because you repressed your memory of turning violent suddenly and murdering your therapist and hiding her body somewhere?”

Derek knew the question was coming and so he was not as shocked as he should have been. He had been made to answer worse questions than this when Kate had burned down his house with his entire family inside.

“As I said,” he gritted out, “I cannot remember anything.”

Gerard Argent sighed.

“I am sorry to say in that case I have no other option but to declare your status to slip into the red zone from your current status of yellow effective from right now. You are to be admitted to AACF for your treatment until you can get back to the yellow zone again. This is not optional. The state will bear the cost of your treatment and medication.” Gerard smiled kindly. “We wish you the best on behalf of RWCB.”

...

Derek jerks back to the present as the van parks smoothly along the curb of one of the indistinguishable building blocks.

Chris Argent, who is sitting in the front passenger seat holds the door open and motions him to get down. Derek does as he is told and he follows Argent inside the building where the monochromatic theme of white continues. There is a short passage that leads to what presumably is the reception area, it contains only a desk and a set of steel waiting chairs occupying one side of the hall. There is no picture on the wall, no potted plant, no weak attempt at all to make the place lighten up. The only adornment is a large wall clock that ticks away somewhat ominously, breaking the uncanny silence.

That is another thing Derek has noticed the moment he has got down from the car: the lack of sound, any sound for that matter, even with his enhanced sense of hearing.

There is a man at the reception wearing grey scrubs, tall and well-built. Argent walks up to him and hands over a letter. The man reads it perfunctorily before depositing it into the drawer. He looks at Derek and smiles brightly.

“Welcome. We have been waiting for you. We have been waiting for you. We have been waiting for you.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at the bizarre repetition and looks at Argent. Argent seems equally puzzled for a moment and then he seems to give himself a mental shake.

"I will be on my way then." He addresses the man in scrubs. "He is your responsibility now."

The man waves a dismissive hand into his direction. 

“I am Brunski,” the man bounces on the balls of his feet, like an excited puppy. “I am the head orderly here and I will be the one to show you around and to take you everywhere. First I need you to fill some forms and set you up for a physical. Please follow me.” 

Derek glances over at Chris Argent who is still standing there, pale eyes fixed on Brunski. Then suddenly his gaze falls on Derek. Derek doesn't grace him with a good-bye or a flick of fingers or a nod. Chris Argent is no friend of his. Why is it then he has been feeling somewhat safe with the hunter standing there, silently, beside him? 

Chris Argent doesn't acknowledge him either, but something in him softened, making the hard lines of his face less pronounced. Then it seems he is about to open his mouth, but he clams up at the last moment. If Derek didn't know better he would have thought Argent is almost reluctant to leave him because he must know beneath the mask of stoic indifference Derek is actually terrified. 

Derek abruptly turns round and follows the orderly into a small room adjacent to the waiting area. Argent has probably left, having fulfilled his duty.

“Here they are.” Brunski shoves a bunch of papers into his hands. “Fill them up as best as you can. The doctor will see you tomorrow. But first the physical.”

“What is in the physical?” Derek asks.

Brunski giggles and puts a hand over his mouth immediately after.

“I cannot tell you that!” He hisses. Then he smiles again. “That is for the boss to decide.”

“Boss?”

Brunski puts a finger over his lips and makes a shushing noise. “We don’t talk about the boss here. It is bad. Naughty, naughty, naughty!”

Derek cannot quite decide if the man is completely sane or not. He is leaning towards 'not'.

“Just fill up the forms. The rest would be easy.” Brunski says in what he probably thinks a soothing tone.

“Um...I don’t have a pencil.” Derek says.

“Jesus! How inconsiderate of me. Sorry. I get distracted when a new patient turns up. It is so exciting you see.”

No, in fact, Derek does not see. He watches with a puzzled frown as Brunski bumbles out of the room and enters after a couple of minutes with a pencil in his hand. Derek proceeds to fill up the forms mechanically which starts with innocuous questions like his full name, his permanent address and goes on deeper until his ears are burning as he fills in minute details about his heat cycle.

Brunski keeps on a torrent of one-sided conversation which Derek tunes out completely, but the odd little giggles here and there send an occasional shiver down his spine. Finally the paperwork is done. Derek is led to his ‘room’ which has no windows and a single door, a single metal cot and a chair both screwed to the ground and an attached bathroom which has no door. The walls are predictably white, as are the bed sheet, pillow covers and the large blanket folded into a neat rectangle and placed near the foot of the bed. Even the ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor are pristine white. Derek is already getting a bit sick of the colour.

“Your session starts tomorrow at eight. Breakfast will be served to your room tomorrow morning.” Brunski lets out another of his patented giggle. “Only the vegetables are served at their rooms. They can still eat on their own. It is quite fascinating. I will take you with me someday to watch them eat.”

“What are vegetables?” Derek cannot help asking.

“Oh you will see. You will see. You will see.” Brunski laughs. 

"Why are you repeating a sentence three times?" Derek blurts out.

"What are you talking about?" Brunski frowns.

"Never mind." Derek turns his back on him to examine the room.

"Hey Derek?" Derek turns round. “You are going to love it here.” Brunski winks and slinks out of the room.

Derek is still staring at the man disbelievingly who delivers the parting words with utmost sincerity and locks the door behind him. It is when the door locks and Brunski peers at him through the tiny square of glass panel and wiggles his fingers that it clicks in again. A second punch to the gut.

Derek decides to hunch down and panic.

Finally.

In the privacy of his own room or cell to be exact.

He decides to panic for Erica and Isaac, for Jennifer, about how a big chunk of his memory is missing, about Deucalion’s threat to Cora and to Stiles...and at the end when he doesn’t seem to have any air left in his lungs, he wonders if he is going to survive the next day.

He is still hyperventilating when suddenly a disembodied voice addresses him from somewhere in the room:

“Derek Hale, patient number fifty one. Please refrain from turning. You have a visitor.”

Derek startles and looks down to see his claws have lengthened and have been digging into his palms from where blood is oozing out in a slow trickle.

“Derek Hale, please remain where you are as the visitor enters your room. Otherwise we will be compelled to use the retrogrador.”

There is a fucking camera in the room and a sound system. It is not private at all! He should have known. 

“Last warning to Derek Hale...”

Derek breathes through his mouth and tries to calm down or at least retract his claws back. 

“Thank you for your co-operation. Now please stay where you are and don’t make any sudden movement. The door is opening for the visitor in three, two, one and...”

The door opens. Derek stares at the visitor who steps inside and the door is locked behind him.

“How are you holding up?” The visitor smiles pleasantly at him.


	14. Chapter 14

“You see breaking somebody is not that hard. I do it on a regular basis for a living. I wouldn’t have been the most influential werewolf on this side of the Atlantic if not for my ability to bring people to their knees...without actually touching them.” 

Deucalion’s cane taps the floor lightly as he slowly advances on Derek.

“So,” his tone is smug and Derek wants to strangle him with bare hands, “the thing is, everybody has weaknesses. You need to explore them and study them and to use it sparingly in order to make somebody do just about anything you want to.”

Derek rises up to his feet, ignoring the warnings issued from the unseen speakers, not wanting to look like a cornered animal. Deucalion has walked unerringly up to him and stopped a couple of feet away. He may be blind, but his other senses seem to work perfectly. 

“So you torture people for living and then you brag about it.” Derek finally breaks his silence. His voice is low and cool, like he is all calm and collected. Like his heart is not beating wildly in his chest. He would pretend for a moment it is not the case even though the alpha can hear it, loud and clear.

“Nope, not at all.” Deucalion manages to sound appalled at the very idea. “You just need to push the right buttons. Since you hold your cards so close to your chest, it just took longer than usual.” 

Derek sucks in a breath. “What do you want from me?” 

“Won’t you like to know?” Deucalion says in a sing-song voice.

“Yes, please?” Derek grits his teeth.

“Well, I guess it is time to reveal it to you. I take it you are quite close to your breaking point. I don’t like to cause you any more suffering than strictly necessary.”

Derek cannot even help the disbelieving scoff that escapes him. Deucalion shakes his head. 

“Believe me I loathe to do this to you. You are built for pleasure and comfort and not for suffering, at all. You are kind and nurturing and loyal and protective. You are actually quite perfect.”

Derek has bile rising in his throat.

“I am not going to be your omega.” He blurts out. For he absolutely needs to establish that singular fact right now. Before it goes any further. Though Derek has a feeling it has already gone too far, but he has to try. 

“Not in a million years.” He emphasises. 

Duke tilts his head to one side. 

“No? Think about it Derek. You are so strong and proud and you need somebody as strong to protect you and to cherish you...to provide every luxury you can think of, to never worry about another alpha even dare to glance at your direction, to have a nice home for your friends, a luxury villa in fact. For nothing but the best for my omega and his pack-mates. You don't need to be scared anymore of anyone or anything or about an uncertain future. You don't need to flinch away from unwanted touches, stave off unwanted advances. Nobody will even dare to so much as look at you wrong.”

Derek automatically leans away from the alpha as far as the wall at his back allows as Deucalion saunters forward and stops right in front of him, nostrils flaring as he blatantly sniffs the air. Derek wants to scream that he doesn’t want to do anything with Deucalion, but he is still reeling from the shock at the unexpected revelation. 

Deucalion’s voice dips down almost to an intimate whisper. He thinks, Derek doesn’t know what he thinks, but maybe in his own twisted way he is trying to be sincere. Then there is the fact that his heartbeat is rock steady. He is not lying at all. He seriously believes he is capable of giving Derek everything that he can only have the elusive glimpses of.

“I am going to protect you from it all. You will be safe, happy. You will be re-united with your sister again, somebody you thought was lost to you forever.”

And Derek wants to block it out. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t even begin to imagine why Deucalion would want him and he only knows he would rather set himself on fire. But he doesn’t understand why it has to be him. He has been quiet and has lain low, pulling the blanket over him, like a child, trying to hide from the entire world. Look what that accomplished. The nightmare has found him on his bed, has grabbed his safety blanket and yanked it away, leaving him open, vulnerable.

“Why me?” Derek finally chokes out. 

“Why not you Derek?” Deucalion asks, amused. “You are the last scion of the famous Hales. You have no idea, do you my darling, what your last name means in our world. Alas, Talia and Edmund passed away before they were able to teach you about the legacy of the Hale bloodline.”

The mention of his parents brings Derek back from the stupor. Jerks something awake in him. 

“My parents taught me everybody is equal and everybody deserves respect and that everybody creates their own legacy by their deeds and action.” Derek lifts his chin defiantly. 

“And my legacy will never be to give in to the likes of you, a bully and a manipulator.”

“Oh but how else would I have got your attention?” Deucalion spreads his hands wide. “You see I couldn’t possibly let you publicly reject me. I am not one to take humiliation very lightly. I didn’t want to have to kill you.”

Derek eyes the blind man in front of him with open disgust. 

“Are you telling me I should be grateful?” Disbelief colours his tone.

“No. Not grateful. Not yet. Right now I need you to be afraid, scared out of your mind.” Deucalion reaches out and Derek immediately rears back. The back of his head bangs against the wall with a painful thud. Deucalion drops his hand.

“See, that is the reaction I am hoping for.” Deucalion waves his hand towards him. “Fear is pouring out of you and right now it is the most beautiful scent in the entire world.”

“You are completely insane.” Derek snarls at him.

“Maybe. But you are going to agree to be mated with me by tomorrow, if not tomorrow, then the next day.”

“Are you not listening?” Derek yells, exasperated. “I am not...let me rephrase, I will rather be dead and buried than agreeing to be mated with you.”

Deucalion tsked.

“Don’t worry. It will happen sooner or later. The only question is how much you will take before breaking down and begging me to take you.”

“Ok, insane and delusional. It is getting better and better.” Derek wonders why his voice is so steady when he is feeling anything but. He is feeling torn open and exposed. He is feeling he is waging a battle he has already lost.

“No, I am a realist.” Deucalion retorts. 

“What have I ever done to you?” The question comes out like a wound ripped open, fresh blood dripping from it.

“Sweetheart,” Deucalion reaches out again and this time he ignores Derek flinching back and grabs his face. The moment their skin contact Derek is transported to a dark place. 

The white room starts spinning around him.

“Don’t...” he bats at the hand but Deucalion grabs his wrist as well with the other hand while his cane falls down and hits the floor with. His fingers were like bands of iron around his wrist and cupping his jaw, effectively pinning him against the wall. He takes another step and his nose is almost brushing against Derek’s collarbone, being a couple of inches shorter than him. No, no, no...Derek growls in warning, eyes flashing blue.

“Listen to me.” Deucalion’s voice is low in his ears, but full of alpha power, raw and unbridled. Derek starts to fight in earnest against the alpha’s hold. “Don’t even think for a single moment that this is because I want you hurt. I don’t. You probably won’t believe me right now, but I AM quite taken with you. But when I decide that I want something, I need to have it, no matter what.”

Derek stops breathing altogether for the scent of alpha is heavy in his nostrils. He is going to lose his shit completely within the next few moments. He feels his control slipping away from him. It is not going to be pretty.

Suddenly, Deucalion releases him and moves back a couple of steps. Derek resists the urge to bend over and suck in precious oxygen in sheer relief.

“Well,” Derek pants. “You cannot have this. And why are you so keen anyway? I am a feral omega who has dropped into the red zone. I am damaged, broken. Why would you want me?” 

Deucalion seems pleased to be asked the question.

“You see, Derek, I need to make a statement for I have been away at London for such a long time that people have forgotten. I need to re-establish my authority politically and you are the key to it. American people are but sentimental fools and they tend to trust people with a stable family. I am ready to settle down here and start my family. I will have nothing but the best of the lot. And about your being feral, you and I both know the how much further than truth it is.”

“What have you done to Jennifer?” Derek suddenly asks. “What about my room-mates. What have you done?”

“Nothing fatal as of now, I assure you.” Deucalion bends down and gropes around for his cane. “Now will you help a blind man find his cane?”

“Go to hell.” Derek spits.

“That is not very nice Derek.” Deucalion finally finds the cane and straightens up. “When you will be mine, I will teach you some manners and it will be such fun to house-break you.”

“Well, dream on.” Derek drawls. “For it is never going to happen.”

“Oh, but it is.” Deucalion walks up to the door and raps on it twice with his knuckles.

Derek doesn’t grace him with a reply.

The door of the cell opens and Brunski’s form fills out the doorframe. He is looking anxiously between Deucalion and Derek.

“Hi boss.” Brunski greets Deucalion nervously. “I hope he didn’t give you any trouble.”

“No Brunski. Thank you.” Deucalion turns to Derek. “He is a well-mannered boy, are you not?” 

Derek balls his fists and tucks them under his armpits for a good measure. 

“There you go!” Deucalion chuckles softly and for a moment Derek can swear he feels Deucalion is eyeing his fists through his dark glasses.

“By the way,” The alpha throws over his shoulder before exiting the cell. “Try to eat lightly. You are probably going to throw up a lot tomorrow.”

...

The physical is hell and Derek needs to be held down by four orderlies including his favourite one, Brunski, which results in further struggles. He is almost relieved when he goes under sedative. 

When he opens his eyes it is already over. Or so he thinks.

Dr. Deaton saunters into the room and greets him like an old friend. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Derek there. He checks the leather straps with which Derek is bound to the bed and hums appreciatively. He disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a nurse who sets up an IV drip. Derek tries to shake off the nurse weakly as she pins down his hand to find the vein to insert the needle, but it only draws an amused huff from the woman. She opens the drip and checks the fluid level intently until she is satisfied the clear liquid is infusing slowly into his vein.

“Get me Brunski.” Dr. Deaton orders the nurse on her way out. 

Then he turns his full attention to Derek and proceeds to the explain how exactly they are planning to go about with the treatment.

“You see there isn’t any foolproof method of curing a feral werewolf except for the tried and tested way.” Dr. Deaton explains. “The reward and punishment method.”

Brunski enters the room carrying an object that looks like a metal helmet at a first glance. He greets Derek cheerfully before fitting the headgear around Derek’s skull and connecting it to a machine that beeps to life as soon as a switch is flipped on by the orderly. Then he attaches three electrodes on the side of Derek’s face and the base of his neck. His pulse points, Derek notes. The electrodes are attached to a long wire that disappears into the machine.

“What is this?” Derek asks hoarsely as Brunski fiddles with what looks like a regulator knob on the machine. 

“Well, you will be exposed to external stimulations and your reactions will be monitored automatically, for example it will be able to detect whenever you begin to turn. Let us just say this little...equipment, will discourage your more violent side to come to fore.” 

“How exactly...is it going to discourage?” Derek really, really doesn’t want to know or to find out. He wants to claw his way out of here. He wants to have nothing to do with the white walls and the pungent smell of his own fear clogging his senses. 

“Why electrocution of course.” Dr. Deaton smiles serenely at him. “There is not much that can be used as a retrogrador except for electricity.”  
Derek stares at the machine.

“Don’t worry. It is set to a level which will be merely somewhat uncomfortable for a werewolf, and there won’t be any permanent damage.” Dr. Deaton assures quickly in a soothing tone. Is Derek freaking out so obviously? “The level is increased only if you show continued resistant. You will have months before that.”

Breathe.

He needs to remember to breathe. 

It is known to be beneficial for health.

“Wh-wh-what if...” Derek stutters. “What if I am still resistant?”

“Then we have to go for a lobotomy.”

His tone implies it is not a big deal. Only lobotomy. Only a metal spike through the eye-socket. Only a little bit of pain and then it is oblivion. 

Vegetables.

Now he knows.

Derek has started shaking. Probably. Or the room is shaking. 

“You will be alright.” Dr. Deaton reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

“Don’t.” Derek almost shrieks out. “Don’t touch me.”

The doctor freezes for a moment. But he removes his hand, looking keenly at Derek like he is making a mental note for future reference.

“Shall we start the session?” He sits down on a stool by the side of his bed. “Do you have any question?”

“Why am I strapped down and what is in the IV fluid?” Derek tries to get his hands free unsuccessfully again.

His voice sounds petulant, like a child. Derek wants to roar and thrash about like the very feral animal that they have branded him as. But there is dread pooling at the pit of his stomach and he cannot dredge up enough anger to channel at the good doctor.

“Derek,” the doctor’s tone is mildly admonishing. “You are a werewolf. You can do a serious damage to any human near you if you lose control. We cannot take any chances. The straps are fortified with wolfsbane which will not hurt you, but it will make you weak enough that you cannot tear it. The fluid is just saline water to keep you hydrated in case you are subjected to electrocution for a long period. Even mild doses can be quite taxing.”

“So very considerate of you.” Derek snarks.

The doctor ignores his jibe and opens a thick file.

“So, let us begin with Paige Krasikeva...”

...

Derek used to be scared of thunderstorms when he was a child. He would be petrified when the lightning forked through the sky and lit up the horizon. He would slip into his parent’s bedroom and climb on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears. His mom would discover him cowering under the bedsheet and would wrap her arms around his small, trembling body and he would bury his face into her chest, smelling her reassuring, unique mom-scent. 

“Hey baby, it is only a storm.” She will reassure, rubbing his back, trying to warm him up.

“No,” Derek would sniffle. “It is evil. Make it go away.”

Talia would rock him and hook her chin over his head. “You will not have your mom around all the time. What will you do then?”

Derek would look up at her with big, watery eyes. “I don’t want to be around if you are not around momma.”

Talia would kiss him on the nose. “My silly baby. You will be here for a long time and you need to be strong. You need to face the thunderstorms alone one day. Think up of something good. Something that will fill up your mind with wonder. Chase your fear away with a happy memory. Ok?”

...

Dr. Deaton has moved on from Paige only to start with Kate Argent.

Derek remembers waking up in a hospital bed with a pair of dumbstruck brown eyes looking at him. Guileless and innocent. He remembers an alpha kneeling down at his feet, bandaging up his bruised ankle with utmost tenderness, taking away his pain with his touch. He remembers the feel of a pair of lips on his, soft and hesitant, like asking a question.  


The images shatter as another jolt passes through his system for he has unconsciously wolfed out again. Kate brings out the worst in him. Always. And the way Brunski is hovering. He is trapped, cornered. He wants to tear everything open and run free.

Derek sees white. Everything is bathed in white and there is a ring in his ear and he cannot hear past it. Thankfully.

He is going to sleep now. His eyes are drooping close. The inside of his mouth tastes like blood and vomit.

He doesn’t know what the doctor is waiting for. 

“....follow instructions....why...not acceptable...”

Derek can barely make out the words, but it seems people are shouting all around him. He wants them to go away. Just him and the pain and the white ceiling. Nothing else matters anymore. Stiles is a distant memory and he has forgotten what he tastes like. It has been such a long time. A few years or decades probably. When is the last time he saw the sky again?

At least the headgear seems to be gone and so are the electrode attached to his skin.

“You are suspended. You will be very lucky if you are not terminated.”

Dr. Deaton is shouting at somebody. Derek frowns, or tries to at least. He has no control over his muscles. The doctor never loses his temper as far as Derek knows. 

“Boss wanted to...”

“Who the hell is this boss?” Dr. Deaton sounds truly furious.

“I cannot tell you that. Cannot tell you that. Cannot tell you that.”

Derek opens his eyes, or his eyes are already open and he only focuses. 

“What in God’s name do you mean you cannot tell me that?” 

“I cannot. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“Unbelievable!”

Derek tries to speak up, but the only sound that comes out of his mouth is an embarrassing whine.

Dr. Deaton’s eyes snap to him nonetheless. He rushes by his side and starts to unclasp the leather straps.

“Help me with these.” He snaps at somebody, probably Brunski.

“But boss said he is supposed to be kept there. Bound and all. Until he comes back.”

“Brunski,” Dr. Deaton whirls round and his voice is icy. “My patience is running really thin.”

“Ok, but when the boss comes I will tell him you are the one...” Brunski grumbles as he frees Derek’s ankles.

“Brunski, just tell me who is this person.”

“Deucalion.” Derek regrets opening his mouth for his only reward is a violent bout of cough.

“Derek, take it easy.” Dr. Deaton helps Derek sit up and even straightens the pillow and tucks it at his back so that he can sit comfortably. 

“It is Deucalion. The boss he is going on about.” Derek explains the minute he is sure he can open his mouth without his intestines trying to climb out of it.

“I am so sorry for this Derek.” He says sincerely. “It seems Brunski has tweaked with the machine. When it was showing one hundred volt, which is the acceptable level for this particular session, it was actually much higher than that. I will make sure...Derek?”

Derek doesn’t have it in him to pay any attention to him for he bends over the edge of the bed and retches.

“God Derek, why are you...” Dr. Deaton’s attention snaps to the IV attached to Derek’s arms still. 

He goes around the bed and fiddles with the clamp on the IV tube to stop the drip. Then he takes out the catheter carefully, making sure not to touch his skin more than necessary.

“Is there wolfsbane solution in this bag?” He throws it under Brunski’s nose and demands.

Brunski avoids looking at him. 

“Is it?”

“Well, well, well...trouble already brewing around out favourite omega.”

Derek’s head jerks up to see Gerard walking into the room, like he owns the place. 

“Mr Argent.” Dr. Deaton tips his head. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh I just wanted to see what progress Derek has made today.” His gaze drifts to Derek who recoils back into the bed.

“It is a treatment room. If you kindly wait at my office, I will be happy to give you the updates.”

“It is not necessary.” Gerard Argent says dismissively. “You are no longer in charge of Derek Hale’s treatment. There has been a slight mix-up.”

“In that case, may I know which of my esteemed colleague is taking over from me?” Dr. Deaton asks. His tone is mild, but there is something else underneath, sharp like a sheathed blade.

“Sure you can.” Gerard Argent smiles benevolently. “You have been a good doctor to Derek, but we all know how he is a special case and needs handling with care. He has already been remarkably receptive to her treatment. So it is going to be a continuation of their previous sessions.”

“What?” Derek asks, dumbstruck. Gerard Argent must not imply what he thinks he is implying. 

“Come inside Jennifer dear, Derek cannot wait to meet you.” Gerard calls out to someone standing outside the room.

Jennifer Blake walks into the room, looking for all the world like coming out of a photoshoot for a glamour magazine.

“Hello Derek.” She smiles as Gerard Argent wraps a hand around her shoulder with an easy familiarity and whispers something into her ear intimately. She laughs at him and places a hand on his chest.

“Don’t worry, I have got it.” She pats on his chest and walks up to Dr. Deaton.

“Doctor, I think we have a patient’s history to discuss. Your office?”

Dr. Deaton frowns and casts a look at Derek, who is staring at Jennifer like he is seeing a ghost.

“They think I have murdered you.” Derek croaks.

“Do they?” Jennifer arches an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. “Well we have a lot of catching up to do. Tomorrow.” She winks at him and leaves with Dr. Deaton and Gerard Argent.

“What?” He asks Brunski as he feels the man staring at him.

“Yes or no?”

“Excuse me?”

“Boss told me to ask you, yes or no.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

Brunski giggles. That is a thing he does. He doesn’t smile or chuckle. He giggles.

“I guess it is a ‘no’ then.” He says. “Boss will be so disappointed.”

Derek throws up again.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek wakes up next day tied down to his chair in his own cell. He is still wearing yesterday’s clothes and he can smell the sweat on himself. There must have been something in the dinner that made him sleep through it all. Derek heaves a resigned sigh. It seems to be a recurring theme, waking up at odd places with people regarding him like he is a museum exhibit.

Deucalion is standing over him with Kali an Ennis one step behind.

Jennifer is standing at the corner and she looks a bit out of place in the almost bare cell with her cream blouse, grey pencil skirt and high-heel pumps. She is holding a disposable injection syringe in her hands.

“Hi Derek,” she smiles brightly at him when she notices he is staring at her. 

“Where is Deaton?” Derek rasps, trying to wiggle free, just on principle. The ropes are cutting into his skin painfully and he knows they are coated with wolfsbane. 

“I have taken over from him.” There is a new glint in Jennifer’s eyes even when her voice is as soothing and friendly as he remembers. “You are under my charge from now on.”

“You have been with them all along.” Derek doesn’t even bother to make it a question.

“Oops,” she raises both shoulders.

“I really really didn’t want to go to this extreme Derek, but it seems you have my hands tied.” Deucalion speaks up.

“Is that a joke?” Derek peers over his shoulder to look at his hands tied behind his back. 

“Am I laughing?” Deucalion retorts.

Derek doesn’t answer him for the question was clearly rhetorical. 

“How do you get in here?” Derek asks instead. “Why do they call you the boss?”

“The supervisor as well as the orderlies in this place has always been severely underpaid.” Deucalion smirks. “Neither do they get enough appreciation. It is amazing what money, a hint of threat and a little bit of coaxing can achieve in a place like this.”

Derek stares at him incredulously. He never for a single moment believed the facility was a safe haven, but he never imagined they would just let anybody have a go at him so easily.

“Plus the fact that Gerard Argent, the esteemed Deputy Director of RWCB himself put in a good word for me.”

“You cannot do it.” Derek resorts to denial but even in his own ears it sounds weak. Evidently he can and he is.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Deucalion’s voice is calm. “I am going to get whatever I want and I suffer nobody, not even a beautiful, fiery omega stand in my way, especially when he IS the endgame.”

“Well, just get this over with, whatever this is.” Derek tries to sound impassive. 

“It is not going to get over until I say so.” Deucalion yells. His voice reverberates through the white walls of the cell. “It is just the beginning. Jennifer if you please.”

Derek thinks he already has an idea where this is going. He is surer when Jennifer saunters towards him, the syringe ready in hand.

“Jennifer?” Derek wants to know why. He wants to tell her how he has never done anything to her. Tell her that she didn’t need to get close to him the way she did. She could have just been a regular RWCB therapist, the type Derek hates, like Dr. Deaton. He wants to say she didn’t need to put that much effort into her act and that he was already compelled to see her by RWCB. She didn’t need to make him like her or think of her as a friend. Or sound like she wanted to be more than a friend. Her eyes didn’t need to linger on Derek like the way they did, appreciatively, but not in a creepy way, but in a way like she sees him as a person, and not just a shell of a man. She didn’t need to seem like she is listening to him, the first person to listen to him and to store his words away in her mind, like they somehow made sense or that they are worth listening to and worth remembering. She didn’t need to tell him he could call her at night if he couldn’t sleep or to talk with her after a nightmare wakes him up. She didn’t need to make him share his precious memories, the only remnants of his family that he is left with, with her.  


She didn’t need to for she already have him, legally.

Everything else was just needless cruelty and Derek doesn’t know how to ask all these.

So he just utters her name and Jennifer smiles at him, open and kind.

“It is for the best Derek.” She says as she bends down and binds a tourniquet around his arm. 

And with that the small iota of doubt is gone.

“Jennifer...NO...NO...” Derek yells and yells and yells some more.

The guards and the orderlies and the doctors can probably hear him, but nobody rushes in. A supposedly feral omega screaming his head off is no occasion for the guards to come rushing down in a place like this, Derek guesses. 

"Shh...." Jennifer's free hand rakes through his hair. "Shh...it is going to be ok." She soothes.

“Why Jennifer...” Derek asks.

Jennifer grimaces.

“Sorry Derek. You were just too interesting to keep it strictly professional.” She spreads her hand in a what-can-you-do gesture. “You are like this puzzle I wanted to put together. It was too much fun and I couldn’t resist.”

Derek is staring at her without blinking.

“Sorry, my bad.” She shrugs again.

Jennifer pushes the needle into his arm, past the flesh and right into the vein.

...

Heat is pooling at his groin and he can feel the slick between his thighs even through the jeans. Derek gropes around blindly at first before opening his eyes. His hands are free. His eyes fly open. Deucalion and others have left. Only Jennifer is there and she is watching him closely.

“No...” Derek starts to stand up, but he feels clumsy. He doesn’t seem to have any control over his limbs. He sways sideways and the chair falls down on the floor with a clutter.

He is going into an induced heat. Very, very fast.

“It is no use Derek,” Jennifer shakes her head, smiling somewhat ruefully. “It will get worse if you don’t go with it.”

“No...” Derek stumbles on plain floor and sinks down to his knees. His hands go tight across his abdomen, like it is going to protect him.

“You see, you will soon be a blabbering mass as the heat will just blind you to all your needs except for a singular one.” Jennifer smiles down at him. “Soon you are going to lose all your senses and you are going to beg for your alpha to fill you up. So you will be automatically mated and you will not only be quite willing, but eager. No more shock therapy. You see we are doing you a kindness.”

The terrifying thing is she is telling the truth. Derek knows it. 

He knows a quarter of an hour down the line he is not going to be coherent enough to form words. He knows half an hour down the line he is going to attack the first alpha that comes through the door and that it doesn’t matter if it is Deucalion or satan himself. He will be beyond caring by then and will just beg to be taken. 

He knows it is going to last for two days at least. Two days of himself being reduced to a bundle of want and animal needs.

Another hot wave of pure want rakes through his frame and Derek hunches on himself, resisting the urge to tear off his clothes. 

“Honey, please stop fighting.” Jennifer kneels down in front of him as Derek scoots back until his back hits the wall.

Jennifer sighs.

“You know it is inevitable now. Why are you fighting it? Just let go.”

Derek’s skin is burning up. He is burning up.

He is in inferno.

“I...no....please, please, please...” Derek tries to blink back the tears, but it is no use for they are falling unbidden from trying to hold back the beast that is raking through his system. “Please no...God...no...please Jennifer...” his breathing comes in pants and gasps.

Jennifer gets up and walks up to him again. She takes out a lace handkerchief and starts dabbing at Derek’s cheeks.

He tries to swat away her hands but he is too weak.

“You sound so sweet begging.” She smiles wiping away his tears gently. “Don’t worry dove. Deucalion is coming right up.”

Derek flinches at the term of endearment.

Jennifer is saying something again, but he cannot concentrate. He is rapidly spiralling down and down and he knows where he is going to end up.

He can’t. He won’t. Only that he cannot fight his own body.

He draws his knees to his chest and shuts everything out: Jennifer’s voice in his ears, murmuring assurances, his heart pitter-pattering out of rhyme, the scent of slick, thick and heavy in air, the scent of his own terror mingling with the scent of lust, coming in waves, from himself, from his own treacherous body.

His body.

Which is being used as a weapon against his mind.

To break him.

He is breaking, shattering into a million little pieces.

The door opens and a new scent permeates his lungs and all his blood cells cry out in want.

An alpha.

His body wants the alpha, an alpha he does not want.

“Kali,” Jennifer stands up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Boss sent me to check if it is working.” The alpha smirks.

Derek is standing up in spite of the tremble in his knees. He takes an unsteady step away from the wall while trying to take off his t-shirt at the same time.

“It is working,” Jennifer smiles and turns back to Derek. “He is ready.”

“God I can smell him from here.” The alpha is smiling.

Derek takes another step, but Jennifer blocks him by putting her hands on his chest. She pushes him back easily.

“No honey.” She chides. “She is not your alpha. He is coming to get you. Soon.”

Derek refocuses on Jennifer’s face. He knows this woman, his brain supplies. He has seen her somewhere. He shakes his head. It is just too difficult to see through the haze. Derek tears at his shirt. It needs to come off damnit. It is so hot in here. He needs to take it off. Jennifer laughs, taking her hand off him.

“You can tell boss he can come now. He is going to beg for it in two minutes.”

Derek is sure he has something important to do though at this point taking off his clothes takes precedence above everything. But he vaguely remembers he wants to do something else. 

“Wow...it is fast!” The alpha is still hovering at the door.

“I guess it is because he has been taking suppressants for the last six years.” Jennifer looks at him shrewdly. “It makes the first heat when he is off the suppressant really intense. I think he is already half out of his mind.”

“No,” Derek finally remembers the important thing. He is supposed to say ‘no’. He is not supposed to succumb to whatever is happening to him.

“Oh honey,” Jennifer frowns. “Duke is right. You are so damn stubborn. You really, really should just open your mouth only for begging for your alpha right now. Or should I just put another dose into you.”

Derek closes his eyes. He is not going under. He is NOT.

“I think he can do with another dose.” Kali smirks. “Just to be on the safer side.”

Jennifer heaves a put-upon sigh and takes out another syringe and a small vial from the side pocket of her skirt. She plunges the needle inside the vial and fills up the tube carefully.

Jennifer approaches him again and grabs his arm. Derek’s claws extend slowly.

“Careful Jenny.” Kali calls from the door.

Derek opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can force out the words.

“Please...let me go.” Derek begs trying to pry his arm away. 

“Well where is the fun in that?” Jennifer’s voice is completely nonchalant.

“I...can...kill you.” Derek suggests, desperate.

Kali growls and takes a step into the room. Derek stops breathing, but still his body almost involuntarily jerks forward in her direction.

“Even if you are capable of doing that,” Jennifer replies entirely unafraid, “Kali is going to tear you apart if you so much as raise a finger against me.”

“That is....what...” Derek lets his fangs come down and he bits down his lips hard, drawing blood. Pain is good for it threads him back to reality. “That is...I...counting upon.”

Jennifer leans down to hear him for his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Jenny....NO.” Kali has heard him loud and clear and has taken a leap towards their direction without bothering to walk, but Derek has already taken a swing at Jennifer. He was not very fast and instead of her throat he catches her in the face. She screams in agony as his claws cut through the flesh and sinews and before her body hits the ground Kali is there, catching her gently and laying her unconscious body on the floor.

Derek is frozen at the corner for a second more before being hauled by his throat and hurled on the ground. He hears the satisfactory sound of his ribs crunching under his own weight, hopefully piercing his lungs in the process for he coughs out blood, a lot of it.

He blinks, dazed, but it is a good kind of daze.

This pain is good. This pain is way better.

He needs more of it.

He hauls himself up and crawls towards Jennifer’s prone body.

“DON’T ...” Kali roars.

Derek looks up and grins with bloodied teeth. He reaches out, baiting Kali, though Jennifer is a couple of feet away.

Kali kicks him, right where his ribs have broken. They probably splinter and Derek has black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He collapses on the ground.

He can take some more.

It is a cakewalk compared to what Kate used to do to him.

He doesn’t bother to push up this time but just starts crawling with the help of his elbows and knees. Kali roars and rips the chair from the floor. She brings it down on his back. Derek barely has the time to flip over and raise his hands across his face. It breaks against his arms. Derek snarls at Kali and scampers backward again in Jennifer’s general direction.

Jennifer is coming round and she lets out a groan. Derek is on his hands and knees, reaching out for the throat when Kali brings down the sharp end of the broken leg of the chair onto his back. It goes right through him, puncturing his vital organs in the process and Derek is done.

He is dimly aware of another even more furious roar that leaves Kali whimpering and cowering at the corner. He can barely see Jennifer stirring, coming back to consciousness, slowly and agonisingly. His insides are on fire and thick, crimson blood is slipping down the broken leg of the chair that is jutting out of his stomach grotesquely. Derek curls on himself, but the pain doesn’t go away.

Derek doesn’t feel the slick anymore or any trace of the heat whatsoever. 

It hurts. Derek coughs up blood on the floor and squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts so damn much.

“Oh Derek,” Derek opens his eyes slowly and the first thing he notices is the tip of white cane tapping against the shining ambassador. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Deucalion grabs a handful of Derek’s hair and tips his head back, making him look into his eyes. Derek’s eyes are glazed over in pain, but he meets the unseeing eyes of the alpha defiantly.

“Now why would you do that?”

Derek gurgles as his mouth fills up with more blood, slipping down his chin. Derek opens his mouth again, forcing his lips to form words.

“You will...never...have me.”

Deucalion sighs like he is dealing with a particularly unreasonable toddler. Then he sits down on a stool, brought up to him by somebody, probably Enis, and leans forward so that his mouth is just against Derek’s ear.

“Do you realise that the more you fight me the more I want to make you mine?” He whispers. Derek shudders and had to bite his tongue to keep down the whimper that rises to his throat from the way the piece of wood moves into his body, tearing his flesh asunder.

“You have no idea how I enjoy the way you are so bend upon defying me at every turn. You can’t imagine how it turns me on.”

Derek would have thrown up right there if he is not busy holding himself up and not dying. He is not even sure why he is doing that any more. Not dying that is.

“Derek?” He would have whipped back his head if he could at the voice full with panic and worry. He shuts his eyes again. Not her, he wouldn’t want to be seen like this by her. Completely defeated and on his hands on knees at the feet of the bastard that is still holding him by his hair. He just cannot take it. But he cannot prevent it either for Cora is there, trying to push past Enis from the sound of it.

“Enis, let me go.” Cora snarls.

“Cora, darling.” Deucalion drops Derek’s head and straightens up. “We are a bit busy here.”

“What are you doing to him? Why is he...who hurt him?” Cora’s voice is full of concern and anger.

“Cora,” Deucalion’s voice changes in an instant and there is a hint of steel in it. “It is not yours business and what are you doing here anyway?”

Derek moves his head even though the movement is killing him. From the corner of his eyes he can see them, Cora struggling against Enis who is holding her by the waist. He catches her eyes and for an instant he is back to his childhood again for Cora is crying. Tears are glistening on her cheeks, making her look softer, younger and he wants to reach out and take her into his arms and murmur that it is alright, that he is ok and that she is ok and that nothing will happen to her and that she is safe. But he cannot do anything other than shaking his head.

“Don’t...” he tries to say, but it only comes out as a groan.

He is pleading with his eyes then, not to fight for him. He is a lost cause anyway. He doesn’t need her risking Deucalion’s wrath for him. Cora sags against Enis, still weeping.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Deucalion addresses her.

“Stiles told me he is here. They came over yesterday, but the guards didn’t let them in.”

Cora informs.

“They let me in when I told them I am his sister, but they told me to wait until the visiting hours. I ran out of patience and slipped past them.”

Deucalion nods. “That is ok. He is your brother after all. There is nothing wrong with you wanting to visit him.” Then he goes on more sternly, “but you see he is having some issues. We are trying to help him. You need to give him some space.”

“But...that wood...he is...” Cora raises a shaking finger at him. “All the blood. Why...why aren’t you taking it out? Who did it?” She repeats.

“Honey,” Deucalion sighs again. “He did it to himself. You see he is in heat and it is exactly like when he set fire to the house last time when he was in heat? He is not quite himself.”

“But...but you said it was Kate who lit the fire.” Confusion is warring against worry in Cora’s open face.

“Yes she did.” Deucalion’s voice is clearly running thin on patience. “But he helped her. He is not quite sane now. He is pretty violent. I don’t want you near him as of now.”

“But...”

“Enis, please escort her home.”

“No...dad, I can’t leave him like this. I want to stay.”

Derek squeezes his eyes shut and feels the fury rolling off Deucalion. He makes his lips move with difficulty.

“Cora...” he wheezes. “Please go...home. I will...be...ok.” All his instincts were screaming at him. He doesn’t want Cora to go back to Deucalion, but he has little choice in this matter. He is impaled and bleeding out in a cell in a mental institution and he has nobody to help. He cannot afford to ask anybody for help.

“But Der...” Cora bits her lip, more tears spilling from the corner of her eyes. Each drop slicing Derek up from the inside even more painfully than the piece of wood embedded in him. 

He tries to smile at her which comes out as a grimace. “Go...your dad will take care of me.”

It kills him to utter the words. But it is Cora, his baby sis, and he will crawl to the end of the world on broken glasses to make sure she is safe. 

Cora nods grimly. With a glare thrown in the direction of Deucalion that seems to say ‘you better’, she untangles herself from Enis and walks away.  
Derek listens to her heartbeat as long as he can follow it.

“Coming back to our discussion.” Deucalion says pleasantly, but Derek tunes him out. He concentrates on the blood dripping down from him and starts counting the drops in his head. How long will it take for him to bleed out? He doesn’t know, but he takes solace from the fact it will probably not take much longer. He is already feeling his vision blackening. He can barely hold himself up for his hands are trembling. Soon it will be over. It is hard to remember anything past that haze, but suddenly he sees Stiles, blindingly clear.

Stiles trying to wake him up, Stiles frantically touching his face, pumping his chest, Stiles calling out his name, from a distance, he can almost feel the frantic racing of Stiles’ pulse, his heart jack-rabbitting in panic. He frowns. Stiles shouldn’t be worrying about him. But for some inexplicable reason he does, probably almost as much as Isaac and Erica. And suddenly Derek wants to live. He wants to see Stiles’ face for one last time. He wants Stiles’ scent to wash over him, like a balm and look into the whisky eyes and belts out casual insults at him. He wants Stiles to rile him up and argue back and forth. He wants to maybe spend an entire day arguing with Stiles and go to bed arguing and in the morning make breakfast for him, earning the pleased, bashful smile that Stiles wears when he forgets to pretend to be a brat. 

He doesn’t even know where it comes from, but the longing hits him like a physical blow. Deucalion is rambling again, but he is not paying attention. His body is numb by now and he is sliding to the floor. 

The last thing he remembers is somebody yanking the wooden leg out of his body. He slumps down as finally blissful darkness descends over him. For the first time in many days, he welcomes it.


	16. Chapter 16

“Why didn’t we ever do this before?” Stiles asks lazily.

“To get hopelessly lost in the wilderness?” Derek looks over at him to see his eyes are closed and he is chewing on a stalk of grass. “I don’t know.”

Derek stares up at the open sky. It is early morning still and the sky is a perfect shade of blue with thin, wispy clouds floating about aimlessly. They are sprawled side by side on a gentle slope, wild grass growing all around them. He can see the tree-line starting a few meters above their heads.

It is quiet except for the exciting chirpings of the birds.

He feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“Why are you smiling?” Stiles asks, without opening his eyes.

“No reason.” Derek says, still smiling.

“That must be a first.”

“Yes.” Derek concedes. “It is.”

Stiles rolls over on his stomach and peers into Derek’s face.

“What?” Derek aims for irritated, but misses it by a mile.

“You look happy.” Stiles is wearing a ridiculously soft chuckle.

“We are lying in the middle of a field, having no idea where we are, having no means to get back to the civilisation, with no food or water or any sign of road and you are saying I look happy with the situation?” Derek glowers.

Stiles hums.

“You are right. I am happy.” Derek laughs.

Stiles stares at him and then starts poking at his cheeks with his index finger.

“Was that a laugh?” Stiles squeaks. “Grumpy pants you are scaring me.”

Derek scrambles up. “I will show you grumpy.”

“Noooo...” Stiles tries to get up as well but Derek is faster.

He is onto Stiles in a flash and he is straddling the squealing alpha and tickling his sides.

“No...God....Derek...let me go!” Stiles screams, but he is laughing helplessly.

Derek keeps tickling his ribs mercilessly.

“You are still grumpy pants...you...will...always be my grumpy pants...” Stiles wheezes.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.” Derek growls playfully and ducks down to nip at the tip of Stiles’ nose for it looks edible, the way it has turned pink.

“Are too.” Stiles licks Derek’s nose in retaliation.

Derek scrunches his nose.

“Am not.”

“So you are not saying you are not in love with me.”

“Am not.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, still panting and Derek rocks back on his heels in shock.

“Dude your expression.” Stiles laughs until tears are falling down his cheeks.

Derek bits his lower lip and drapes himself over Stiles, tucking his face into the hollow of Stiles’ collar bone.

“Derek, get up.” Stiles says softly.

Derek shakes his head, still burying his face into Stiles.

“Get up, Derek.” Stiles repeats.

“No.” Derek mumbles against his skin.

“Get up.” Somebody hisses urgently. “Derek, please get up.”

It is not Stiles.

Derek opens his eyes and lifts his head, from where it is buried in the pillow.

He blinks to let his eyes and other senses adjust to the darkness inside his cell, which smells of blood and other terrible things.

“Derek come out of your cell. Hurry.”

Derek realises the voice is coming out of the speaker.

He climbs down from the bed slowly, but his head spins almost immediately for the wound in his lower abdomen is still healing and blood is seeping out of it, soaking the bandage through.

“Who are you?” Derek asks quietly. “How do I know it is not a trap?”

“Derek it is Deaton. You have to trust me or what you went through during these two days will be repeated ad nauseam until you die or go out of your mind or give in, whichever comes first.”

Derek reaches the door and hesitates.

“Don’t go towards the reception. Take left and walk until the end of the corridor. There is a fire escape, which will be open tonight. Keep in the shadows and reach the base of the watch tower. I will be waiting.”

Derek nods for the benefit of the invisible camera and tries the door-knob. It turns easily and Derek cracks the door slightly open.

Dead silence greets him, which means the corridor should be empty.

He steps out. Hell, what does he have to lose anyway? He pads down the corridor silently which isn’t really that difficulty for his feet are bare. He woke up earlier in the evening at the clinic only to notice he was wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that did not belong to him. It was a bit creepy that somebody changed him while he was still out of it, but given his experiences at the place so far, it was almost an act of kindness and he was almost grateful for his clothes were bloody and beyond salvageable anyway. His wound was also bandaged up and healing, but it was a slow go. They had let him go back to his room which was in pristine condition and there was no sign of the bloodbath earlier. He never touched the dinner tray which was left for him on the brand new chair, but had chosen to go to bed and fall to an exhausted sleep almost immediately.

He ignores the sharp pain in his abdomen and hopes he doesn’t leave a bloody trail behind him. He tries not to think of the people beyond the doors identical to his own on both sides of the corridor. 

He is sure there are cameras in the hall so it is inevitable that the guards will be alerted soon. But he reaches a large swing door at the end of the corridor without incident. There is a smaller one at the side with a red neon sign on the top of the door indicating the fire escape.

He is about to try the door when the large door suddenly swings open and Brunski enters through it. He stops dead in his track on seeing Derek.

“Boss wanted to see me.” Derek holds up his hands, thinking quickly on his feet.

“He let me know through the speaker system.”

Brunski is still frowning at him and his hand is hovering over the small pager-like object at this waist. It may be some kind of alarm. Derek doesn’t want to take any chance.

“How else do you think I have opened the door of my cell?” Derek challenges. “Through my will-force?”

“Ahhh.” Sudden understanding dawns on Brunski’s face. “He wants you to go and meet the vegetables. He has talked about it. To let you see what will become of you. Eventually.” Brunski smiles toothily.

“Yeah.” Derek nods. “That is it. The vegetables.”

“Come with me.” Brunski holds the swing door open for him and waits.

Derek has no other option but to follow.

There is a staircase beyond the door, but it leads down instead of up. Brunski starts climbing down the staircase with Derek following him. He can break his neck right now. But again, cameras, and Derek will rather avoid further bloodshed if he can help it. Maybe he can render him unconscious somehow.

But before he can decide on any course of action Brunski has led him to another door and he is opening it to reveal a huge, brightly-lit hall, with white linoleum floors and white walls.

Derek is blinded for a moment, but when his eyes adjust, he almost chokes on air.

It is not a hall, but a prison cell with at least twenty small cells lining up along the walls on both sides. The cells have glass walls and so there is no privacy at all. Most of them are occupied with people, werewolves, Derek presumes who are either sitting or lying on the small cot or standing in the middle of the cell. Irrespective of the huge difference in their ages and appearances, they have one thing in common: the vacant gaze that looks out hollowly in front. Some are drooling from the mouth which stands agape, but they seem unbothered about it.

They are not even blinking.

With a shudder Derek realises, it is like they don’t exist in their bodies anymore.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Brunski whispers from behind and Derek jumps at the sound.

“Such powerful specimens reduced to this. So tame and so very pliant. You can do whatever you want to with them. They will never say no.”

Derek turns towards Brunski with his mouth agape.

Brunski giggles like an excited schoolgirl at his stunned expression.

“Do you want to SEE?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Look at that blond one.”

Derek looks over and sees a girl who cannot be more than twenty. She is one of those who are standing. Her hair is dirty blond, falling around her shoulders. She is tall and willowy and very pretty. But her eyes have the same vacant look, as if she is staring, but not seeing anything.

“She is something isn’t she?” Brunski licks his lips. “She feels even better. Her skin is like velvet and her hair is pure silk.”

Derek balls his fists by his sides.

“And when I am inside her, she makes this noise, like the words are stuck in her throat and she cannot get it out and it is so adorable.”

Derek advances towards the cell.

“You like her?” Brunski sounds delighted. “Well I have no problem to share my toys with you.”

“Open the cell.” Derek orders him gruffly.

“Impatient?” Brunski raises his brows. “I like it. But can I watch? Can I watch? Can I watch?”

“Yes.” Derek grits out. “You can watch, now open the cell.”

“Oh I am so excited.” Brunski claps his hands. “You two will make a beautiful picture. I have a good mind to bring popcorn and soda. Oh and I need my camera. I need pictures.”

“No time.” Derek waves his hand impatiently. “Boss wouldn’t want me out of my cell for long.”

“But I wanted to see YOU for such a long time and I have been waiting for you.” The orderly whines. “Boss told me a long time back to be prepared, that somebody very special is coming and I have to take care of him. You are so special. I have –”

Derek whirls round, bunches his scrubs in his fist and jerks him forward.

“I am two seconds away from cutting your head off,” Derek growls in his face, flashing his eyes electric blue, “if you don’t open that cell right now.”

“Ok, ok,” Brunski finally looks a bit shaken. He licks his lips nervously again. “Let me go. Jesus.”

Derek releases his hold slowly. Brunski throws him a wary look, but he walks up to the cell and presses a few keys on the keypad on the doorframe.

The door opens with a click.

“Go on.” Brunski is smiling again. “She will not bite. I promise. Go on.”

“What is her name?” Derek asks without taking his eyes off the girl who seems completely unconcerned with the drama unfolding in front of her. She is still standing with her hands hanging loosely by her sides, staring off into the space.

“Malia” Brunski chirps. “Pretty name for a pretty girl. She was captured in her coyote form from the Preserve. Apparently she had been roaming around like that for eight years and she has forgotten to be human anymore.” Brunski winks at Derek. “Kinky, huh?”

Derek nods grimly and tries to step past Brunski who suddenly puts a hand on his shoulder.

“After this, only you and me? I promise I will not tell boss.”

Derek turns round with his most charming smile.

“Sure Brunski.”

The punch lands neatly on the jaw and Brunski is knocked out flat. Derek takes care to try to hold back his strength as much as possible, lest he doesn't snap his neck. He bends down and makes sure the orderly is breathing. Well, his jaw may be broken, but that can be fixed easily.

Derek has a good mind to castrate the unconscious man while at it, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the penis of the man and so he resists the temptation.

He looks back at the girl again. She is standing in the exact same position with the exact same expression.

Derek sighs and steps into the cell. Suddenly, her scent spikes with fear, though her eyes remain glassy.

“Malia?” Derek asks gently. “Can you understand me?”

No response. Derek frowns.

“I am trying to get you out of here. Ok? I will not hurt you.”

Still no response from the girl.

Derek gives up.

“Well, I am going to hold your hand now.” Derek says. “Remember I will not hurt you.” He repeats.

He carefully closes his fingers around her thin wrist. Her skin is cold to touch, which shouldn’t be the case. All shape-shifters run warmer than humans. Also, the scent of fear is still there, mixed with something else. Derek tugs at her hand gently and she walks forward, easily.

_Tame and pliant..._

Derek grits his teeth and tries to swallow down the rising wave of fury. No need to scare the girl further. He walks out of the cell with the girl in tow. He has no clue what he is going to do with her, but he cannot possibly leave her behind after knowing what horrors await her here.

He would have unlocked every damn cell if he had known their combinations, but as it is, he doesn’t have them and he is running out of time.

He listens intently before opening the door that leads to the staircase. There is a sound of footsteps coming down the staircase that sounds like an orderly and not a guard for it is soft and slow. Or it may be a doctor. Probably a late night check-up or it maybe somebody like Brunski, out in a midnight prowl.

Derek doesn’t want to take a chance by peering. He waits patiently and counts five minutes in his head even after he cannot hear the footsteps anymore. Then he opens the door carefully.

The staircase is empty. Derek climbs up hurriedly and tugs Malia along with him. He takes a deep breath on reaching the swing door. He doesn’t want to open it and re-enter the corridor. His heart is beating frantically against his rib-cage and a near debilitating fear is clogging his senses. He cannot go back there. He will not survive it if he is thrown into the cell again. But Deaton said there was no other way, that he has to take the fire escape.

Suddenly he starts violently at the small brush of a something soft against the inside of his wrist. He looks down, dumbstruck to see the thumb of Malia’s hand, which he has been gripping tightly, is moving timidly against his skin. He looks up at Malia, shocked, but her face betrays no emotion.

“Malia?” He whispers.

The finger pauses.

“Can you understand me?” He asks again. “Are you there?”

This time the thumb sweeps across his skin more determinedly.

“Ok, ok, ok...” Derek inhales deeply, gathering courage. She is responsive. Which means she is not as much of a ‘vegetable’ as Brunski would have made her out to be and that is good news. Now he has to get her out of here. Probably with patience and proper care she will become normal again. If not, he will make sure to take care of her anyway even if that means he will have to handfeed her and dress her and bathe her like a toddler for the rest of her life. He will not let her go now that he has been able to rescue her from the damn cell and that is for sure.

His hand tightens around her wrist and even though it may be his imagination, but her body temperature seems to have increased a bit in the last few minutes.

Derek opens the door and gasps.

Chris Argent is standing there with his crossbow ready and aiming right at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you think of this chapter and share my fics with your friends if you like them.


	17. Chapter 17

“Derek.”

“Argent.”

“Put away the claws. Will you?”

“Put away the weapon first.”

Malia’s scent is spiking with fear again. Derek tightens his grip on her wrist without looking away from Chris Argent, trying to reassure the terrified girl through touch alone.

“Are you in a position to negotiate?”

“No.” Derek cocks his head. “But I am in a position to do more damage than you can imagine. Even if you pull the trigger.”

He hopes Argent doesn’t see his hands are trembling ever so slightly.

Chris stares at him coolly for what seems like a million years. Sweat breaks out on Derek’s brow. His wound throbs in pain, but he dares not move a single muscle except for elongating his claws further, ready to strike.

Chris lowers his bow with a huff.

“You were supposed to come alone.”

Derek lets out the breath he has not been aware of holding.

“She is coming with me.” He says with finality.

Chris Argent eyes him again. Then he moves forward.

“Follow me.”

They go through the fire escape together that leads to a narrow passage underground, which leads to another passage and it seems there is a veritable maze of them. Chris Argent leads them forward while Derek keeps his senses open for any sound. They are soon climbing up the stairs and pausing in front of a large door again.

“This is the backside of the administrative building.” Chris whispers. “Go across the lawn for this side is hidden from the watch tower. Then keep to the shadow of the inner perimeter wall until you reach the watch tower. The last stretch is tricky for you will be out in the open for a little over four hundred yards, but once your reach the base of the tower it should be ok for there is no guard placed around the tower.”

“What happens when we reach there?” Derek whispers back.

“We are working on it.”

Derek stares into the pale blue eyes of the hunter who looks back at him steadily. He has a thousand questions swirling inside his mind, but this is neither the time nor the place.

His instincts are screaming inside him not to trust an Argent, but he has no other way. If he is caught, it will not only be him right now. Malia, who is much more vulnerable than him, will be in trouble for Brunski will surely take his anger upon her and Derek shudders to think what that will entail.

There is no time to ponder over the pros and cons of putting his trust into Chris Argent for he is already grabbing the door handle and looking at Derek expectantly. Derek closes his eyes and listens. The campus is eerily quiet as always. All the cells as well as the clinics are soundproof, as he has learnt, and so nothing that happens inside them ever escapes the confinement of the four walls. But right now the silence is his friend for he can pick out faint sounds easily. He can hear the rustle of leaves outside and the incessant chirpings of cricket. There is no sound of footsteps or heart-beats in their immediate vicinity.

Derek nods.

The door opens and Derek darts forward with Malia whose sharp intake of breath doesn’t escape his notice, but he doesn’t slow down or look back. He crosses the lawn like an arrow and ducks into the shadow of the wall. He crouches down and listens again. Now he can make out the sound of the guards patrolling the compound. But they are all concentrated on the other side of the premises, towards the front gate. The reason for this uneven distribution is pretty evident. The wall at this portion of the facility is a good thirty feet high with smooth surface topped with barbed wire which Derek will bet his life on is electrified. No one in their right mind will try to scale it.

He rises to his feet and hauls up the girl too who has closed the gap on her own and is currently almost clinging to Derek’s back. Derek takes a look at her, but she still looks quite vacant.

Derek steps forward cautiously.

Suddenly a siren goes off nearby, shattering the silence, and Derek leaves his hold on Malia to cover his ears with both hands. Malia is immediately onto him, latching onto his back with a desperate death-grip, claws extending and digging dip into his skin past the thin material of the t-shirt, whimpering softly.

Derek doesn’t know whether to be happy that she is finally responsive or to be alarmed at the sounds that she is making.

He grabs her wrists again and untangles her from his back. Her eyes are still glassy, but her face is not expressionless any more, it is a mask of terror. Was she play-acting all along to avoid the shock therapy? It may be a possibility, but it is not like he can grill her about it now.

So he does what he would have done if it were Erica or Isaac. He draws her into a hug instinctively, clutching her to his chest.

“Shhh....” he shushes her gently. “Shhh...” He does not dare to say anything more to comfort her other than caressing the back of her head soothingly.

Malia bites down his shoulder, hard. Derek winces, but at least she has stopped whimpering and he considers it a victory.

People are shouting at a distance and he can hear footsteps, a lot of footsteps, but instead of coming this way they seem to be going in the opposite direction.

Derek holds the girl by the arms and tries to move her away from him. It is not easy, but slowly he eases her jaws.

“We need to move.” He whispers at a pitch he knows will be inaudible to human.

Malia doesn’t acknowledge him at first. Then she slowly moves her hand, like the gesture is foreign to her and grabs his fingers. Derek looks at her curiously. Then she closes his fingers around her wrist.

Derek smiles faintly and starts moving forward again. The watchtower looms in front of them. High and menacing. And the wall drops in height abruptly to only ten feet. The area between where they are standing to the base of the tower is flooded with light.

Derek looks at Malia whose face has gone blank again and Derek has started to think it is a mask that she wears to protect herself from hurting, well hurting more than the usual. He grips her wrist and starts sprinting.

“Hey.” Derek’s blood runs cold in his veins, but he doesn’t stop.

“Stop, right th –”

Derek doesn’t slow down as he hears a thump behind him. He pushes himself for he can see the door opening at the base of the watch tower. Derek now knows he has to reach that door even if that is the last thing he does in this life.

Because standing at the door, wearing the dark uniform of the guards with his cap drawn low on his brow to hide his eyes, is Stiles Stilinski.

He closes the last few meters in a nano-second, almost colliding against Stiles who moves aside quickly.

“Upstairs, quick.” He says.

There is no time for greeting, no time for heaving a relieved sigh, for when he throws one last glance backward, he can see a guard lying face down on the lawn and a couple more are engaged in what looks like a hand-to-hand combat with a dark figure.

His abdomen is bleeding again and he can hardly breathe from fear and exhaustion. By now he is almost entirely fuelled on adrenaline. He climbs the narrow stairs two at a time with Malia following him closely.

Finally, he is at the top, fully expecting to see guns pointed at him, but what he finds instead are Scott and Liam, both wearing the same uniform as Stiles chewing on their nails nervously as they are scanning their surroundings.

Both stride forward as soon as Derek steps inside the turret, looking immensely relieved.

Malia makes a sound which is more animal than human and clings to Derek’s back again.

That doesn’t deter Scott at all as Derek is soon engulfed into an enthusiastic hug by the alpha while Liam’s hands are twitching like he will also like to have a go except for he seems to be scared of Malia’s fangs, which have come out for display as Derek can feel even without looking over his shoulder.

“Scott.” Derek chokes. “Personal space.”

Scott releases him immediately.

“How come she gets to cling to you?” He accuses, pointing at Malia who hisses at him, tightening her arms around Derek’s neck. “Who is she anyway?”

If Derek didn’t know better, he would have said she smelt of smugness.

“Malia, meet Scott.” Derek says. “Scott, meet Malia.”

Liam is still staring at her warily.

“Dude, is she feral?”

“No.” Derek scowls. “She is coming with me.”

“Ok.” The fact that Scott doesn’t pause to question him or even to argue means they are really short on time or they are just that desperate, Derek decides.

“We are climbing down from the other side” Scott says. “Stiles will hold the fort until we are gone at least a few kilometres.”

“But the perimeter wall?”

“This tower straddles both the walls.”

There is a small wounded sound and all of them turn to look. The dark figure has subdued both the guards by now and is hauling the three bodies into the shadows. Stiles has darted down to bring them inside the tower.

“Who is that?” Derek asks.

“Braeden.”

Derek looks at Scott with a bewildered expression.

“How many are there in this?”

“A lot.” Scott smiles. “You may be an asshole, but it seems people are still not willing to write you off.”

A high-pitched metallic chip sounds from somewhere very close.

“Is that...a towhee?” Derek frowns.

“No. That will be our getaway vehicle.” Liam says and he places both palms around his mouth and makes an identical sound.

Derek stares at him in awe.

The chirping is returned immediately after, but this time it comes from somewhere exactly below them.

“Stiles has got it covered.” Scott explains. “We need to move.”

“But the sirens?” Derek frowns, looking towards the facility which seems to shake itself off sleep very fast. From his vantage point he can see the guards at the front gate and they are opening the gates as a couple of trucks are getting ready to shoot out of the campus. He can feel frantic movements inside the building too.

“They will notice the vehicle and they are going to follow us.”

“Trust us.” Scott says gently.

Derek turns towards Scott and nods. He is putting a great deal of trust in everybody tonight. No need to do otherwise when he is this close to freedom.

Liam is throwing a knotted rope from the turret window on the opposite side of the room.

“If something happens to me...” Derek starts.

“Derek  –”

“No, please.” Derek raises one hand. “I know they will not even try to arrest me this time. It will be shoot-on-sight. So if I die, promise me you will do everything to keep her safe. Don’t let them take her back there.”

“Ok.” Scott concedes.

“Now guys.” Liam urges them.

“You first.” Scott gestures to Derek.

Derek looks at Malia. He knows given the state of her motor co-ordination it will be too much to expect she will be able to climb down the rope. He approaches the window and grabs her hands to wrap them around his neck. Then he hooks his hands below her knees.

“Climb on my back.” He says. “Come on.”

Malia hesitates, but finally gives in with a grunt. She seems to be severely underweight for she is far lighter than Derek expects. He grips Malia’s wrists and swings one leg over the window ledge.

Malia tightens her grip on him.

“Don’t worry.” Derek tries to smile over his shoulder. “We will be out of here pretty soon.”

He grips the rope tightly and starts climbing down. He has taken climbing lessons at school and so it is not that much difficult, but the rope is chafing his wound, making him grit his teeth against the pain.

Finally he is on the ground. He takes one look at the driver of the waiting vehicle which is an identical black van as are used by the hunters and immediately dives inside. There is even an RWCB logo painted on it.

“Good to see you Derek.” Lydia Martin greets him as the van roars to life. “You have brought a date?”

“What about Scott and Liam?” Derek ignores the question and looks back to see the two climbing down the rope.

“There are three cars in total.”

As if on cue, another van screeches down the road and makes a hasty u-turn. Derek peers into the rear-view mirror to see the passenger door opening for Scott and Liam.

“Where did you get the cars from and what about the uniforms?”

“Oh the car is common enough and the logo is pretty easy to copy. About the uniforms, it was easy to acquire especially when you have friends on the inside.”

Lydia is driving fast, but within the speed-limit.

Though Derek’s brain is screaming that they need to go faster, he understands the need to keep below the radar. He notices Lydia is also wearing the dark fatigue of the AACF guards.

“What friend on the inside?”

“Allison Argent.” Lydia replies. “Now let me concentrate for the game will begin now.”

Before Derek can ask her what she means, he can hear the sirens of police vans behind them. Looking back he is surprised to see another dark van has joined their convoy and a couple of squad cars as well. A huge black truck is also trailing all three of them.

Suddenly Lydia swerves to the right and enters into a different street as the other two vehicles continue on the main road.

The police vehicles fall behind, probably following the other two vehicles but the truck continues to follow them.

“Shit” Lydia checks the rear-view mirror. “Ok, hold on.” Lydia swerves left again and heads into the preserve that skirts the left side of the road.

Derek puts his arms around Malia who is sniffling pitifully into his shoulder and Derek suddenly realises this may be the first time she is inside a vehicle after being carried to AACF and that is why she seems to be freaking out.

“It is ok.” He soothes. “Lydia is a friend. She is going to take us somewhere safe. Far from the people who have been hurting you.”

Malia ducks down and buries her face into his lap. She is shivering uncontrollably. Now that the need and the reason to pretend to be a mindless mass is over all her emotions must be crashing down on her.

Derek holds on to her and hums quietly under his breath, something his mother used to sing to him when he was a child.

Lydia meets his eyes through the rear-view mirror.

The road is bumpy and Derek’s eyes have started to sting in agony. He can feel his wounds have torn open even more and he is bleeding copiously, but he ignores it for the time being. It is more important to get away from here first.

Lydia seems to know the forest trail well as she pushes determinedly inside and suddenly Derek knows where they are heading, though he has no idea how Lydia knows about the place.

Soon enough the burnt out remains of his house loom in front, but it is not deserted, not even close. There are at least half a dozen people (humans, a witch and wolves, even a fucking kitsune) standing in front of the house all wearing face masks and dark clothes. All of them smell like Scott and Stiles.

Pack.

The vehicle screeches to a halt slewing sideways.

“Move behind them.” Lydia instructs and throws herself out the of the passenger side door.

Derek grabs Malia by the waist and hastens to climb after her.

The other vehicle has already halted and hunters are taking position behind it.

“Surrender Derek Hale to us if he is among you and we will let you all go unscathed.” One of them yells.

Derek passes the loose line of defence with Malia bunching his t-shirt and keeping close. He keeps on walking until he reaches the staircase leading to the porch.

“Listen to me carefully.” Derek looks into Malia’s eyes and says fimly. “It will go against your every instinct, but you have to let me go and you will not follow me. You have to hide inside that house and run as soon as I tell you to.”

Malia whimpers.

“No, you have to listen.” Derek says gently, grabbing her wrists and untangling her fingers from his shirt. “I know you can understand me. I know you were only pretending. But you cannot go back. If I cannot make it and if they come for you, then just run. Or turn into a coyote. That way you will be able to defend yourself better.”

“We will count to ten and then...”

“Fuck off.” Somebody growls around a mouthful of fangs.

“It is better to live as a wild animal than going back and letting them do what they were doing to you.” Derek goes on in the same quiet and gentle tone.

“Go.” Derek points inside. “Please.”

Malia stares at him dumbly for a few seconds.

“Ten...nine...”

“Malia.” Derek grabs her face and kisses her on the forehead. “Please go. I will die knowing I have been able to save at least one person.”

“Seven...six...”

Malia’s face crumples for a second and then it hardens over in determination. She gives a jerk of the chin that can be a nod, can be anything else, but she darts inside the house clumsily, like her limbs have forgotten their use.

“...three...two...”

Derek lets his fangs grow as he leaps forward along with the wolves and the kitsune.

Bullets and arrows are shot, threats are thrown and then it is a mass of fangs and pained roars and terrifying growls. Derek reaches the truck later than the others and a couple of hunters are already on the ground. But then so are a couple of wolves. The others have retreated and taken cover behind the trees and shooting from their hidden spots.

Suddenly a bomb drops right at Derek’s feet and goes off. There is purple smoke everywhere. Derek’s eyes sting viciously and his lungs seem to be on fire.

He cannot breathe.

“Malia...RUN...” he yells, knowing she can hear him and then he is on his hands and knees, coughing.

But Malia is running towards him.

Stupid coyote.

Derek wants to glare at her, only if he can gather enough strength.

“No...no...” he chokes out.

Malia is gripping his arm and is tugging him, but she is also weakened by the smoke.

“No...go...’way...” Derek slurs.

His other arm is gripped on the other side by somebody else.

“Stiles?” Derek murmurs, not even able to lift his head.

He is being moved inch by inch as the fight rages around him.

“Stiles...” he mumbles again. “’Mnot...saying....’m not ‘n...love with you...”

“You can tell that to him yourself.”

That is not Stiles. It is a girl. Derek tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids are heavy and he is falling asleep. His stomach hurts and he cannot feel his legs at all.

“No...Derek.” Somebody shrieks. “Keep your eyes open sweetheart. We are nearly there.”

“I...I want Stiles...” Derek insists stubbornly.

Well at least the tugging has stopped. But his lungs are still burning.

“Stiles is right here.” The girl soothes, wiping his brow with a damp cloth. “He will be with you soon. Just hold on.”

Derek smells cobwebs, ashes and old memories. He can also smell something else, kind of like jasmine, but that is not quite it. Derek coughs and something liquid spills out of his mouth.

“Oh God,” the girl exclaims and rubs his chest gently.

“No...” Derek tries to shove the hand away. Stiles has been there. He has come for him and Derek didn’t even have the time to acknowledge him. Now he wants to see him before it is too late.

“Mason.” The girl is talking to somebody. He knows that name. He has heard it somewhere. “Why is he not responding to the antidote?”

“I don’t know.”

Somebody whimpers on his side. He can feel her hands on his head and he doesn’t want to shake it off. The thin fingers grab a lock of his hair with surprising strength.

“Malia...” Derek sighs. “I told you to run away.”

The whimper dissolves into an angry chatter, again more animal than human.

“’Sok...’m ok.” Derek pats her hand which is now stroking his hair instead of trying to pull them out by the roots.

“Der-bear, who is your pet?”

Derek’e eyes fly open at the sound of the voice and he regrets it immediately as he feels a thousand needles prick behind them.

“Erica?” He slurs, closing them immediately. “Where is Isaac.”

“Alive, well and accounted for.” Erica chirps, dropping down beside him. “But you need to stop dying on us. Come on. Pull out of it.”

Then she grins mischievously. “I will even give you a good reason for it.”

“What?” Derek asks warily.

“You are going on a road-trip with Stiles.”

Derek opens one eye to look at her ignoring the pain.

“Hi Der,” she smiles softly, but she has tears in her eyes. “Welcome home. Though you should be the one to say it for it is your home after all.”

Derek notices his surroundings finally. They are inside the Hale house. He is lying on a mattress and Malia is lying on the floor near his head, curled into a foetal ball. There are Mason and a pretty, dark-haired girl kneeling on his other side. The latter is smiling down at him gently.

“I think the antidote has finally started working.” The girl says.

“Hello Derek. I am Kira.”

The kitsune, Derek adds a mental note.

“What happened?” Derek asks weakly.

“We managed to take them down. Scott and Stiles came from behind and they were able to surprise the hunters.”

“Are they dead?” He asks.

Mason pulls a face. “I wish. They are bound and gagged though and Scott is giving them some pep-talks.”

“But,” Derek tries to sit up and is immediately pinned down by three pairs of hands. He gives up with a huff and lies back down. “But you guys are going to get into trouble if they go back and report you.”

“Report whom?” Kira smiles. “Unknowns entities in ski masks guarding the Hale house?”

“Seems like stuff of urban legend.” Mason agrees.

“They have sent out a small army for a single omega and still they have been unable to catch him. I am sure this story will never see the light of the day.” Kira says.

“Also it may lead to an investigation as to how exactly a patient can escape from a facility like AACF and hence that will require an inspection of the premises, which in turn may raise a few uncomfortable questions.” Lydia pitches is as she enters into the room holding the hand of a blue-eyed werewolf whom Derek had seen at Scott’s house before.

“Like missing CCTV clips.” Kira continues. “They may question why there are so many of them and for such a long period, especially in the cells of the patients labelled as high-risk.”

“Where is Stiles?” Derek tries again.

“Jesus Der.” Erica snorts. “You are like a broken record. Somebody get him Stiles or he is going to have an aneurysm and all our hard work will be for nothing.”

“He is chalking out the route.” Lydia informs.

“Take me to him.” Derek sits up and this time he is not deterred by the glares directed towards him.

“Well, the sooner they are on their way, the better.” Lydia sighs. “They are not going to make it a newsflash, but that doesn’t mean RWCB will just let this go.”

“So, what are we waiting for?” Derek quirks an eyebrow at her, rising to his feet finally. If a spell of dizziness hits him immediately he doesn’t let the others see it. The werewolf narrows his eyes at him, but he ignores it.

“Erica,” he barks, “tell me where Stiles is right now so that I can beat the shit out of him for pulling off this stunt or help me God.”

“And ladies and gentleman, Derek Hale is back.” Erica smirks.


	18. Chapter 18

Lydia leads him to a room which used to be his mother’s study while his father preferred the library. She nudges his towards the room and with a smile thrown over her shoulder disappears into the bowels of the house.

Derek takes one step at a time. He can already hear Stiles’ heartbeat and he knows, so can Stiles. He pauses at the door-less entrance and takes a fortifying breath. It is just Stiles. The irritating alpha with whom he exchanges banters and insults and it is nothing to beat himself up about. He has faced stuff that surpasses his worst nightmares in the last few days and meeting Stiles again is nothing compared to that.

What the hell is he terrified of anyway?

Stiles is the one who helped to have him rescued.

He is in no danger from Stiles.

It is just...Stiles.

Skinny, irreverent, loud-mouthed, annoying, generous, kind, brave, loyal, loving...

Derek is so dead!

He steps into the room.

A huge, old quilt is spread on the floor and Isaac, Stiles, Scott, Danny and Braeden are sitting on it, poring over a map.

Derek doesn’t look at Stiles, but focuses on the bandage on one side of Braeden’s face instead. She looks back at him coolly.

Isaac leaps to his feet and hugs Derek immediately who hugs his friend back, having a good mind not to let go for the next few hours.

“What happened?” Derek asks hoarsely, his face is still buried into the crook of Isaac’s shoulder.

“Gerard Argent kidnapped us, strung us up like pigs at his basement and beat the ever-living daylight out of us.”

Derek’s arms tighten around Isaac.

“I am ok, Der.” Isaac rubs Derek’s back.

“God...Isaac.” Derek mumbles, horrified on behalf of his friends. “It is all my fault.”

Isaac takes a step back from him.

“Hey none of that!” He pats Derek’s face.

“Here...see, perfectly ok.” He whirls round for a demonstration. “Not even a scratch.”

“How did you get out?”

“He let us go after your hearing was over. Transported us near our apartment and kicked us out of the car.”

“Why would they do that?” Derek finds himself patting down Isaac obsessively anyways.

“They wanted me to testify against you.” Braeden speaks up. “Gerard Argent threatened to kill them if I didn’t do as I was told.”

Then she lowers her eyes. “I didn’t know what passes at the AACF. I thought if I testify against you at least you will be alive, but if I don’t, two people will end up dead.”

She pauses. “I am sorry Derek.”

“No, you did right.” Derek says fervently. “Thank you. For saving my friends.”

Braeden looks up, surprised.

“But then it begs the question who slashed your face?” Stiles asks. “You never told us that. You just said you are done with Deucalion and that you wanted to go freelance from now on and so we have hired you for the time being. But you owe us the truth.”

“I don’t owe anything to to anyone here.” Braeden says, raising her chin, “except for Derek. I owe him an apology and then some more.”

Isaac sits down on the rug and tugs at Derek’s hand until he also sinks down beside him with a huff .

“Apology accepted.” Derek says. “Now will you answer Stiles’ question.”

Braeden draws a breath as if fortifying herself.

“I work as a personal assistant for hire and I have been working for Deucalion for the last six months, ever since he returned to Beacon Hills.”

She chews on her lip. “As his personal assistant, I had to do many...unsavoury things. I detested it, but Deucalion offered me a small fortune for my services and I need the money.”

Derek nods in understanding. He knows a thing or two about how Braeden feels. After their house burnt down Laura and Derek had literally nothing, not even clothes they could wear the next day. So both of them had dropped out of school and college respectively to start doing odd jobs. The insurance money had come through only recently, but until then it was a bleak fight against things they had never had to worry about before the fire, namely hunger.

“He was determined to get married and settle down within one year. He has been obsessed with the idea to run for the post of the President of the UFS.”

All werewolves in the room suck in a breath. The UFS or the United Front of Shape-shifters is a world-wide organisation as important as and more powerful than the United Nations. This organisation actually creates all laws, sets down rules and guidelines regarding all shape-shifter related issues throughout the world. The organisation has its own constitution and even its own peace-keeping force and it consists of battle-hardened wolves only. It is almost like an international government that runs parallel along with the local administration. The UFS doesn’t even have to obtain permission from the local law enforcement authority to enforce its regulation which it does with an iron hand. The RWCB of the USA and other, similar organisations in different countries are directly under the control of UFS.

“He is already a member of the Council that runs the organisation, but he is not happy to be merely one among the hundred odd Councillors. He wants the top position.”

“No surprises there.” Stiles mumbles under the breath.

“You see, only seven countries where the shape-shifters take up more than thirty percent of the total population can elect one representative each to run for the office of the President.”

“Yeah, yeah, everybody knows that.” Stiles waves his hand. “The USA being one of them and so Deucalion wants to be the one elected from the USA to be able to participate in the election. But it is not an open election. I believe only the Councillors can cast votes.”

“As per him, he can easily manipulate the vote which is restricted among one hundred people only, but it will difficult to rig an election sprawled across the entire country.”

Isaac puts one hand up in air. Everybody turns their heads to look at him.

“Not that the crash course in shape-shifter politics is breathtakingly interesting,” he drawls, “but what all these have got to do with our little Der here.”

Derek raises a questioning eyebrow at Braeden for he has been wondering about the same thing.

“Blue blood.” Braeden says.

“What?” Stiles asks, mouth agape.

“Derek is a blue-blooded omega for the Hales descend from...”

“I know my history, thank you very much.” Derek hastens to interrupt. Nothing embarrasses him more than the long winding stories of his ancestors who used to be kings and queens and whatnot once upon a time.

“You mean to say Deucalion went to set up such an elaborate plan to trap me just because of this?”

“You have no idea what your name means to many wolves.” Braeden says, echoing something Deucalion had said earlier.

Derek frowns and shakes his head. “That is, I don’t know...I find it hard to believe.” He pauses. “Where were those people when Laura and I were struggling to cope with the death of our family?”

“Derek,” Braeden’s tone softens. “Maybe people tried and you pushed them away. Also most people were too horrified to react and by the time they got past it, you two had already slipped away from the public eye.”

“Well...” Derek still doesn’t look convinced.

“There is another reason.” Braeden declares. “Sympathy vote.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Derek with his tragic back-story would have garnered a shit ton of sympathy and Deucalion would reap the benefits. Besides, Derek will be a perfect exhibit as an omega belonging to a highly recognisable family, well-known to both political and academic circles, in fact the literary circles too if I consider Peter Hale and his best-selling YA novels, fallen into hard times after the untimely and tragic death of his family, turning wild and semi-feral in grief and depression.”

Stiles growls low in his throat, but Braeden goes on in the same hard tone, taking no notice of the alpha.

“Enters the alpha, generous and benevolent, who rescues the omega from his hapless condition by love and gentle care, takes him away from the AACF from where almost no one returns to join the mainstream society and ultimately mates with him. It is a fairytale romance.”

Derek still doesn’t get why somebody would go to such an extent instead of taking a willing mate for God knows there is no dearth of good-looking omegas from reputed and well-established werewolf packs, but he supposes he will never understand how Deucalion’s brain works and therefore it is a wasted effort.

“What happened to your face?” Derek asks Braeden, trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic.

“It was Deucalion.” Braeden says bitterly. “He said he would pay for skin grafting and my face will be as good as new. That will be extraneous to the payment we agreed upon.”

“So why did you –”

“I want the scars.” Braeden glares at Stiles. “They will remind me not to make the mistake of shaking hand with the devil for money. They will remind me what I almost become while working for the monsters.”

“You are not a monster.” Scott says. “You are a good person Braeden, or you wouldn’t have quit Deucalion’s service even after he threatened you.”

“Ok, so can we move this story forward” Isaac asks impatiently, cutting through the heavy air. “I get it that Jennifer somehow lured Derek to her place. But what exactly happened over there?”

“As far as I know Jennifer filled the room with some kind of invisible smoke from a memory retarding herb. She used to dabble in black magic even though she is not a born witch or even a proper druid.”

“That is why I blacked out and cannot remember anything.” Derek wonders.

“And they planted blood all over Derek while he was sleeping or something.” Scott chimes in. “And also at Jennifer’s door, making it look like a murder has taken place there.”

“Then they had probably let Derek out, who was completely out of it and was roaming around aimlessly.” Stiles finishes the speculation.

“Not aimlessly.” Derek mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Derek clears his throat, not looking at Stiles. “I said, we should probably get going. Deucalion knows this place. He had been here to threaten me once.”

...

“You can take Route 187 North to Flathead County and reach that place, St. Mary. Is that a town?” Danny, frowns down at the map.

“Not exactly. It is more like a settlement.” Stiles says.

“And you have an uncle who lives there?”

“It belonged to my grandfather, but yes my uncle lives there now. But Derek is not staying at my uncle’s place.” Stiles huffs. “It is too risky. Only a few families live down there and everybody knows everybody. But he must halt there to wait for the paperworks to come through. He will need a set of false identity.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“My uncle has a log cabin in the forest. We used to go for camping over there during summer breaks.” Stiles pauses. “When mom was alive.”

Derek looks down at the map to where Stiles is pointing.

Glacier National Park.

“Why Montana?” He asks, to nobody in particular.

His and Stiles’ eyes have met only once after he entered into the room. 

“We are crossing over to Canada on foot.” Stiles says, pointing to the map. “Right here. There is a mountain pass here.”

“Where exactly in Canada?” Derek still doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I vote for Banff.” Stiles smiles down at the map. “There are mountains, forests and lakes...grizzly bears who I have heard are typically grumpy, extremely irritable and completely anti-social. Kind of remind me of somebody.”

“Wait, you said ‘we’ are crossing over.” Derek finally looks at Stiles who meets his stare head on.

“Yes sourwolf. Of course I am coming with you.”

“No way in hell.” Derek shakes his head, scowling. “You have put yourself and your pack in enough danger because of me.”

“A pack which we want you to be a part of.”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

“Oh boy!” Danny mumbles. “People we need to get that thing done right now.”

“What thing?” Scott frows.

“That thing!” Danny makes a face at Scott.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Braeden hisses, throwing her hands in air. “Let us just make ourselves scarce.” She makes an exaggerated eye roll towards Derek and Stiles.

“Oh, ok!” Understanding dawns on Scott’s face. “THAT thing! Right. We need to do that thing right now.”

All of them rise to their feet except for Derek and Stiles who are still locked in a staring contest across the map sprawled between them.

“Stiles, we are going to do that thing.” Scott waves at Stiles awkwardly. “You two will be alright?”

Neither Derek nor Stiles pay him the slightest attention and Danny drags a reluctant Scott out of the room.

Isaac kneads Scott’s shoulders.

“You are alright Mccall.” Derek hears his friend addressing the alpha cheerfully. “You will do.”

“Why not?” Stiles says, his expression betraying nothing.

“I don’t want to be the part of a pack. I like y-Scott. I like your pack. But I cannot be a part of it.”

“You like Scott. You like every member of the pack but me.” Stiles nods to himself. “You cannot even bring yourself to look at me today. I know I should have got you out of Jennifer’s clutches. I knew she was bad news, but I failed you. You have no reason to like me after that.”

“No.” Derek shakes his head vehemently. “No. You couldn’t have done anything. You argued with your own father. Believe me it has got nothing to do with my not wanting to be a part of your pack.”

Stiles doesn’t look convinced.

“So what is your problem dude? Are we not blue-blooded enough for you?” Stiles asks.

“I...” Derek is truly at a loss. He knows he is hurting Stiles’ feelings and that is the LAST thing he wants to do but he just cannot bring himself to agree to this.

“I am sorry –”

“Anyway if you think our pack doesn't deserve to have somebody high and mighty as you I would like to remind you that every member of the pack risked their lives for you today.” Stiles bulldozes over him. Derek has never heard him sound so grave. “Brett and Hayden got hit with wolfsbane bullets. They almost died. Chris and Allison were compelled to release a feral werewolf to create a distraction so that you could escape. Even now Allison is tracking the beast and Chris cannot help her for he is being interrogated at RWCB, though thankfully it is just a routine enquiry and they don’t suspect him yet.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Scott will lose his job if his part in this little adventure comes to light. Do you have any idea what that means for him and his mother?”

“I never asked anybody to rescue me.” Derek grits out. Is he happy to be rescued? Beyond a shadow of doubt. Is he grateful to the people who pulled it off?  Definitely. But he doesn’t want to be guilt-tripped into something he doesn’t want from heart.

“Oh don’t be such a fucking martyr.” Stiles sighs, exasperated. “Of course we will rescue you. We tried to visit you, but they didn’t let us in. So Scott called Dr. Deaton.”

Derek almost starts hyperventilating at the mention of the doctor. Yes he helped him out later, but in Derek’s mind he will forever be associated with being strapped down helplessly on the bed with thousands of volts of electricity passing through his system and Dr. Deaton recounting his history with Paige and with Kate, urging him to talk about them.

“As it turned out,” Stiles goes on, oblivious to Derek’s rising wave of nausea, “he was a family friend. He let it slip that something was amiss the way they have been treating you. It was like they were out for blood or something. Do you think we will do nothing even after that? Well, news flash, friends don’t do that.”

“I am not your friend.” Derek says. He is almost gasping for breath by the time Stiles has finished his little rant for each of his words brings home the two days spent at the Facility. Then he makes himself look at Stiles and immediately regrets his words for the expression that crosses Stiles’ face is of utter betrayal.

“No, I don’t mean that.” He whispers. His throat is burning and his chest feels constricted.

“I am not your friend?” Stiles repeats. Each word is cutting into Derek’s heart. He didn’t mean that at all for Stiles is surely far more than a friend. Derek doesn’t yet know what Stiles is to him, but surely something vital, something essential to his existence for he cannot envisage a world without Stiles. It is just too painful.

That is precisely the reason he cannot take Stiles with him if he is running for he cannot let him become an accomplish and God knows what Deucalion will do with Stiles if he catches up with Derek before the RWCB agents. At least the latter of the two will kill him on sight. That too Derek doesn’t want Stiles to witness first-hand.

But he wants to get lost in the mountains along with Stiles and lie on a slope covered with wild grass and stare at the sky and count stars at night and never find his way home.

It is never meant to be. It was only a hopeless dream.

It is better for him to hate him. It is easier this way.

“Who is your friend then?” Stiles asks, his tone completely neutral. “The girl that you have brought with you? She is an alpha isn’t she?”

“I haven’t noticed.” Derek rises to his feet unsteadily. He has to get out of here. Fast. He cannot let Stiles know how only a handful of spoken words can send him spiralling down. He will never let Derek go alone.

“Where do you think you are going?” Stiles stands up as well and blocks Derek’s path.

Derek tries to bypass him, but Stiles places a hand on his chest.

"Stop. This conversation is not finished."

Derek flinches back immediately. He needs to get out of here. The room is spinning all around him.

He needs to GET.AWAY.

“But she IS an alpha.” Stiles spits angrily at him. “Her scent is all over you. You had to jeopardise the rescue to tag your little girlfriend along. Hmm?”

“She is not my girlfriend.” Derek snarls into his face.

“So why did you bring her with you? Why a pretty alpha girl? Because you want her isn’t it? Lydia was saying how you were singing her lullabies and kissing on her forehead and then you let her climb on your back and you cannot even let me touch you without flinching away. You want her to be your alpha. Isn't it? She is more important than the lives of others that you risked by bringing her along. My pack means nothing to you. I am nothing. I was never anything. Not even a friend.”

Stiles is crying.

“No Stiles...” 

"Then talk to me Der." Stiles screams into his face and Derek cowers against the wall. 

"Don't," Stiles spits, "don't shrink back from me. Tell me why you sometimes look at me like...like you cannot, you don't want to look away. Then there are times you ignore my very existence then you pretend like I mean nothing. You have to tell me right now. You cannot run away every time or bang your door on my face. What is it that you feel about me?"

"I...can't...now..." Derek is desperately trying to walk past Stiles again. Stiles is crying, but he cannot deal with it. He is going out of his mind. He will tell Stiles everything, later. Right now he needs to breathe.

"Just tell me this much," Stiles says resignedly, "are you going to be with the coyote? Is she the one? Tell me and I will stop waiting for you. For God knows my friends tried to warn me that you would break my heart one day but I never listened. Are you going to let her love you? Are you going to spend your next heat with her?"

"Don't..." Derek pleads.

“Don’t what?”

Jennifer’s face hovers near Derek.

“Come on honey. Don’t fight. Just take it like a good boy.”

Derek closes his eyes and tries to will her away. She is not here and he is not back at AACF. He is with Stiles and he is safe.

“Oh no honey. You are not safe. You are never safe from us. We are going to get to you eventually.”

“No...”

“Don’t worry, we are not going to make you wait much longer.”

“Just let me go. Please.” Derek, by now is having a full on flashback.

Kali appears at the doorway.

“Deucalion told me to prepare the blue room.” She smirks.

No, not that one. He is never going back to the blue room. Kate is DEAD. She cannot make him re-visit that place.

“Sweetheart,” Kate’s saccharine sweet voice purrs against his ear. “Do you think it is that easy to kill me? I still live in your memories. I will come back whenever I please.”

“Go....away...”

Derek is pinned down against the wall by strong arms. He thrashes weakly against the iron hold.

“And then I am going to brand you again.” Kate smiles. “The last one has already faded. Pity we have to renew it every month. I wish I can mark you permanently as my bitch.”

“NO...” he screams. The hold on his wrists is abruptly loosened.

He falls down limply and starts dry heaving. A hand touches his shoulder. He shudders and starts to crawl away. Away from the hurt and the touches that hurt and from the words that hurt.

Everything hurts and everybody hurts.

So.Just.Away.

He doesn't go far. Kali is standing over him, smiling down and then she is staking him with the broken leg of a chair.

Derek screams again in utter agony.                                                                                                                   

People are shouting over him. Around him. He cannot be bothered to listen past the hurt.

He is bleeding again.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Crimson blood pooling onto the white-tiled floor.

Derek smells death.

“Stiles.” He slurs. “Stiles.”

He will never live to see his dream.


	19. Chapter 19

He is lying on an unfamiliar bed. He gropes around for the inevitable restrains - ropes or straps or chains maybe - but he finds none.

There is no IV drip by the bedside either. But there is somebody sitting on a chair a few feet away, well not exactly sitting, but slumped down on the table with his head tucked into the crook of his arms.

He must be a guard. Ok, so they are relying on brute force.

He appears to be sleeping going by the even rise and fall of his back.

Derek needs to be careful.

First rule of survival: Don’t draw attention towards yourself.

Suddenly Derek remembers something with a pang. Stiles’ face crumpling, for he said something wrong again. He is always going about saying the exact wrong things.

So he decides he will not talk.

It is easy.

He has never been much talkative to begin with.

But his sharp intake of breath has alerted the guard and now he is sitting up.

Oh, hell!

“Derek?” The guard has a soft voice and soft face. And he has eyes like a deer, large and brown and framed with thick eyelashes.

He approaches the bed cautiously. Derek’s eyes follow his movement.

He seems harmless.

All of them seem harmless at first, his mind supplies.

He stops a good foot away from the bed and glances down at Derek’s hands. He smells sad. Derek looks down to see his claws have come out and he is clutching the edge of the bed sheet with a white-knuckled grip.

Derek blushes self-consciously.

Great, now on top of everything they will think he has no control over his wolf and will send him to that place. What was the name of the place again? Derek doesn’t quite remember, but it doesn’t matter, because he remembers everything that transpired there, in vivid details.

The man is saying something to him in soft voice.

Jennifer has a soft voice too.

But this man’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, like he has been crying. Evil people like Jennifer don’t cry.

Maybe he is not evil.

Derek looks around the room. It seems ordinary enough, though filled up with cheap furniture. The walls are covered with pale green wall-paper and the bed-sheet and the bed cover are a bright shade of blue. Well, blue is not quite his favourite, but anything is better than white.

Derek makes a mental catalogue: there is no restraint, there is no IV drip, there is no poisonous gas, there is no strange instrument by the bed and finally no tray full of knives and scalpels of different shapes and sizes (Kate’s favourite).

The guy is again saying something to him and…are those tears rolling down his cheeks?

Derek frowns.

He tries to concentrate. Not on the way the man’s mouth moves, but on the actual words.

“...God I will never, ever forgive myself…I am so, so sorry. I don’t know how to make it up to you. I didn’t know what happened there. I didn’t know until you started to scream and then...”

Derek stares at him.

“Derek, please say something.” The guy’s hands are twitching beside him, like he is aching to touch him.

“Stiles, I heard...oh, he is awake!” another guy rushes inside. He strides forward determinedly and is about to jump onto Derek while the first guy grabs him by the arm.

“Don’t Scott.” He says. “Remember what happened when we tried to touch him?”

It stirs something in Derek’s memory. It seems all three of them were in a similar situation before, in another lifetime.

“So what do we do Stiles?”

Stiles? That is not Stiles! Derek is puzzled.

“Call Dr. Deaton.” Not-Stiles says. “He is still waiting outside, isn’t he? Let him take a look.”

Scott disappears beyond the door and comes back soon with a dark-skinned man with a kind face.

Derek’s eyes widen. He jumps out of the bed from the other side and crawls underneath.

“Shit.” He hears somebody say, possibly Not-Stiles. He crouches down on the floor to be on the eye-level with Derek.

“Hey big guy, Doctor Deaton will not hurt you.” Not-Stiles cajoles gently. “He needs to examine you. Please come out.”

Examine!!!

Derek shakes his head vehemently and retreats further into the shadow.

“He will not come out Stiles.” A different voice speaks, possibly the dark-skinned man, Deaton.

“Why?” Not-Stiles looks up at him.

Derek crawls forward to take a peek at the man again.

“He associates me with a bad memory.”

Damn right he does!

“What bad memory?” Not-Stiles sounds angry.

He is standing up slowly and the other boy, Scott is backing up to shield the doctor from Not-Stiles.

“He underwent a retrogrador therapy,” the doctor says, “otherwise known as the shock therapy, for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Stiles frowns.

“Well, werewolves are by nature hardy and they can heal. The whole point of the therapy hinges upon its being unpleasant enough for the patients to force them to conform or at least willing to do so.”

“I don’t like where the story is going.” Not-Stiles mumbles.

“The voltage level of the machine was accidentally set to five thousand instead of one hundred volt.”

Not-Stiles lunges at the doctor while at the same time Scott moves forward, colliding with him and pushing him backwards, towards the bed.

“Stiles, please listen to the whole story…”

“An orderly named Brunsky was behind it. I believe he had been working under Deucalion’s instruction.”

Not-Stiles is crying again.

“Five thousand volts…for a few hours…Scotty…”

“I know,” Scott is hugging him tight. “I know.”

“And I am a horrible person that pushed him beyond his limit and I just…”

“It will be ok.” Scott soothes, “everything will be ok.”

God, how naïve the man is! Of course nothing is going to be ok.

Derek snorts.

Both the boys crouch down on the ground to stare at him.

“Hey, can you understand us?”

Derek raises an eyebrow at the dumb question. Why shouldn’t he understand them? Is he an animal or what?

“He can understand us alright.” Not-Stiles smiles, though his tears. It is a bit ridiculous, but it also makes Derek want to bump his shoulder, in sympathy.

He seems like a really nice guy.

But then again – Jennifer!

“What is wrong with him?” Not-Stiles sounds angry again. He directs the question to Dr. Deaton.

“It may be a delayed reaction to trauma. I suspect he had already been suffering from PTSD and haphephobia, but he had been coping, to some extent. Repeated trauma in recent times has sent him into a survival mode so to speak.”

“He is not speaking. He has been awake for what fifteen minutes now and not a single squeak from him.” Not-Stiles points out.

“There is no cut and dried pattern to what an individual will consider as a survival mode. It depends on the person’s mental state and the experiences they have gone through.”

“So he has chosen to become mute?”

“Maybe or maybe he thinks speaking is not necessary while he has retreated into his shell. Maybe he will speak when he wants to or when he thinks it is necessary.”

“But Dr. Deaton,” Scott says. “We don’t have much time. It has already been three days since we got him out. They need to hit the road for there is a red alert in his name and it is only a matter of time that other states will be notified as well. We cannot move him when he is this helpless.”

“Derek is not helpless at all. In fact if my guess is correct, he is in a constant high-alert state. In medical term we call it hyper-vigilance and therefore there is a chance he senses the danger much quicker and analyses it at a much deeper level than yours. However if you want to help him, it is completely up to Derek whether he will trust you enough to do that.”

“I will not trust myself enough with Derek.” Not-Stiles shakes his head. “After the way I treated him, I don’t think I am at all fit to take care of him, especially when he is in this state.”

Derek glares at Not-Stiles from his hiding place. How dare he presumes Derek cannot take care of himself and that he needs a baby-sitter. He is aware he is in danger and he knows he needs to get away, the sooner the better.

He crawls out from under the bed, startling all three people in the room and walks towards the door, though he still tries to give the doctor  wide berth. He feels the three people are staring at his back, but he ignores them for the time being in favour or exploring the house. He examines the next room and then climbs down the stairs, acutely aware of the three guys following him. It seems he is not quite a prisoner here. Even if he is, his ‘guard’ is doing a piss poor job of looking after him, not that he is complaining.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and takes in the surroundings. It is a living room with a dining table set at one corner with a few people occupying the chairs around it. They reek of nervousness.

The moment he walks up to them two people get up and hug him from both sides. Derek’s hands rise automatically to wrap around them, like he has a muscle memory of it. Then it is the easiest thing in the world to rub his cheek against the top of the head of the blond girl that is clinging to him and bump the underside of the chin of the lanky, curly-haired guy hugging him like Derek is his personal teddy bear.

They are making distressing noises like they are crying too. Derek feels upset. It seems he is making everybody cry today.

At least the coyote seems happy.

She is sitting at the table, but she has pulled both her feet up. She is eating a sandwich with gusto. Derek remembers he is hungry and he untangles himself gently.

“Are you hungry Derek?” A dark-haired girl notices him eyeing the sandwich. “Would you like a sandwich?”

Suddenly, on hearing his name, the coyote looks up and with a squeal of pure delight she leaves the half-eaten sandwich on the table. In the blink of an eye she is climbing on the table and dashing across it, startling everybody and is throwing herself at Derek.

Derek catches her instinctively and cradles her close to his chest.

Pack. Protect. Comfort.

She is making unintelligible noise, half happy, half indignant and she is gripping Derek’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip, rubbing her nose along with Derek’s neck, unconsciously scent-marking him.

“She never learnt to be human.” Dr. Deaton is saying from behind.

“I didn’t recommend shock therapy in her case, but I was over-ruled. She turned so violent after a couple of weeks she had to be lobotomized. But somehow she healed, which in itself is a near-impossible feat.”

Derek knows she is a miracle. Otherwise among all people why should she be the one Derek chose to rescue, the one who actually only pretended to be a ‘vegetable’.

Malia.

Her name pierces through his conscience like a gunshot.

Derek is so happy she is ok. That she is never going back.

He cups her face and kisses her on the nose, like he used to do to Cora. Malia lets out a joyous laugh, then she looks startled, like the sound is completely alien to her.

Derek rubs the tip of his nose with hers and she giggles again.

“God…and I thought…”

“She IS an alpha though, but she has no clue how to be an alpha. She has hardly any clue to be a human.” Dr. Deaton is saying. “I think Derek somehow sensed she has been pretending. God only knows what they have been doing to her that she chose to pretend to be catatonic to avoid it.”

“I know.” Not-Stiles is looking like he is going to cry again. “I know Derek is like that, a softy on the inside. I know that is why he rescued Malia, but I don’t know why I said those horrible things to him.”

“He is awake finally.”

Derek looks up to see a pale-eyed man who has just walked in through the front door. He is looking strangely at Derek.

He knows those eyes.

Lately those eyes have a changing expression on them when they fall on him, and it seems like Derek is a puzzle he doesn’t quite know how to solve.

Derek nods at the man and he seems taken aback.

“I thought you said he is suffering from memory loss.” The man comments.

“Selective memory loss.” A red-haired girl replies. “He can remember most parts, but he has suppressed a good chunk of it.”

“So he doesn’t remember AACF.”

“On the contrary,” she chuckles sadly, “given the fact he woke up a few times and screamed his head off about letting him go and the way he has been reacting to various seemingly innocuous objects, like a wooden chair, THAT seems to be one thing he vividly remembers.”

“Survival mode.” Dr. Deaton puts in. “You must remember what hurts you. He has probably forgotten the good parts for they are not integral for his survival.”

“He has forgotten what makes him happy.” Not-Stiles says pensively.

“Well, I may have something for you guys which will show you what exactly happened with him while he was in there.”

“What is it?” Not-Stiles strides forward.

The pale-eyed man…

Wait…

Chris Argon…

Chris Agent…

Chris Argent…that is it!

Chris Argent it is.

Chris Argent takes out a small rectangular object.

A hard disk, Derek notes.

“The entire CCTV footage from his cell is here. There are some footage from the laboratory also when he visited it with Brunski. I managed to edit it out of the main feed. Thought I should keep a back up for future reference.”

“Have you watched it?”

Chris hesitated.

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?” Not-Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

“I started to watch it, but I couldn’t go on after sometime.”

Almost all people in the room barring the doctor turn white as sheet.

“Oh God.” The blond girl who hugged Derek earlier starts to weep silently.

“Just watch it and hopefully you will get a clue how to bring him back.”

“I…don’t want to…” the curly haired boy says, taking a couple of steps back as if he wants to physically distance him from the knowledge. “I cannot watch it. Sorry.”

“Me neither,” A dark-haired human boy shakes his head.

“Guys,” the red-headed girl calls out. She is still pale, but she her tone brooks no argument. “I understand we would all like to protect our senses and our sanity, but Derek has GONE through this. The least we can do is to find out what exactly transpired there and try to help him as best as we can. Who knows maybe we can make a case against RWCB from this.”

Half an hour later Derek is sitting on the staircase while Malia is happily demolishing a tub of ice-cream, sitting one step below him, with her elbow propped up on his knee while others are watching the CCTV footage in the living room.

Derek can hear himself scream, but he feels strangely dissociated. It is in the past and there is no use feeling sorry for himself.

They start to get up and leave, one by one, way before the tape ends playing.

The short, blond kid is the first to come up and pretty much collapse on Derek. Derek thumps his back awkwardly.

His name is Liam, he remembers along with a weird, grudging affection that he also remembers to be associated with the memory of the boy.

Then it is the curly-haired boy who rushes straight to the bathroom.

Derek winces in sympathy at the sound of him retching violently.

Stiles and Scott don’t last very long either. They don’t come anywhere near Derek though. They stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking at anywhere but at Derek, smelling of distress.

Surprisingly the three girls watch until the end, though by the time the video ends, one can easily mistake them with ghosts.

Neither of the girls cries or tries to hold him, but the red-head stands in front of Stiles.

“They were raping her,” she informs, tone faux casual. “Whenever and however they wanted. That is why Derek took her out. That is why he is so gentle with her. That is why he lets her touch him for he knows she needs it to ground her and that he has nothing to fear from her.”

She pauses. “I thought you should know.”

Not-Stiles’ eyes are impossibly big.

“Jesus Christ.”

…

“What do you mean he is GONE?” Stiles is shouting at the top of his voice. “There are six werewolves, one hunter and one kitsune in this fucking house. How can he be gone?”

“Stiles we were not exactly monitoring his movements or restricting him.”

“To give him space so that he doesn’t freak out. God! Not that we can…oh hey here you are!”

Derek saunters into the house wearing his favourite leather jacket and a packed duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Ray Ban is hooked through the neck of his t-shirt. He had taken time to shower and shave and to have a hearty meal at his apartment.

He vaguely remembers Stiles having something important, that is crucial for him to get away from here.

Stiles is staring at him with his mouth agape.

“Did you go home to pack your bag? Are you…does this mean you are ready to hit the road? With me?”

Derek mulls over it for a moment, then he gives Stiles a firm nod. He knows that he needs Stiles and he is going to trust his instinct here.

“Do you…do you trust me.”

Derek shakes his head.

He trusts nobody. But he is capable of taking care of himself.

Stiles bites his lip.

“Ok, fair enough. Just give me five minutes. I will be with you.”

Derek stands and waits.

Stiles hasn’t even been gone ten seconds before he comes rushing back.

“I mean it…stay.” He says, firmly.

Derek rolls his eyes.

He is not playing any game. He knows his survival depends upon his getting out of this fucking town or this country even.

Probably he can go to Canada.

Calgary or…Banff.

There are mountains, forests and lakes...grizzly bears…

Derek shakes his head against the oncoming headache.

Stiles is true to his words and comes rushing down the stairs within five minutes. He is speaking urgently with Scott and others. Derek turns on his heels wordlessly to get out of the house.

Suddenly Malia emerges from the kitchen and heads straight towards him. She has a slice of pizza hanging from her mouth which she drops unceremoniously on the couch.

She pauses in front of him, unsure, taking in his jacket and his bag.

Derek smiles at her, wraps his arm around her neck and gives a quick peck on her forehead.

Stay. He orders.

Malia looks up at him and searches his face. Then she gives a solemn nod and steps back.

Derek avoids looking at anybody else, though he can feel everybody’s eyes on him, exuding sadness and concern. Hugs and goodbyes are but a waste of time and he doesn’t understand who are these people to him anyways and why they are so worried about him.

Five minutes into the drive and he decides it is the last time he would trust his instinct.

For Stiles never stops talking.

Ever.

This is going to a long ride.

…

“Stop the car. I need to pee.”

“Derek, please.”

“Derek I am serious.”

“Derek, I swear to God I am going to pee all over your precious upholstery.”

Derek hands Stiles an empty bottle without looking at him.

Stiles starts to seriously consider using it after quarter of an hour.

Derek doesn’t stop before forty minutes more.

…

Derek snatches the packet of potato chips away without taking his eyes off the road.

“Dude, I am not done.”

Derek looks down pointedly at the mess on Stiles’ lap which is full of crumbs from the variety of snacks he has been munching on. Almost non-stop.

Derek regrets making a pit stop at the last gas station and letting Stiles walk into the convenience store from where he has emerged with his arms laden with snacks.

“Food,” he has explained with a face-splitting grin.

Derek didn’t know people older than ten can consider candy and peanut butter cups and chips and cola proper food. But watching Stiles’ mouth work around a popsicle does something funny to Derek.

As his mind supplies – worst instinct ever.

“You are the sourest wolf in the sour history of all the sourwolves ever!” Stiles exclaims.

That…doesn’t even make any sense.

Stiles kicks his feet on the dashboard.

Derek glowers at him until he puts them down.

“Just so you know.” Stiles hastens to clarify, “I am not afraid of you.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him.

He is lying.

Why is he lying and why the hell is he afraid of him?

“Ok, maybe I am,” Stiles hedges. “But that won’t stop me from pestering you all the way to Canada.”

Derek sighs.

A long, long ride!

…

“We should celebrate our entering into Nevada.” Stiles chirps and buries his nose into the map. “I never thought we would cross the borders of California without strangling each other.”

Derek taps his thumb against the steering wheel impatiently while waiting for the signal to turn green. He has taken off the Interstate 15 after spotting a squad car coming from the opposite direction.

Primm may be an insignificant place, but the police is the police, small town or not.

“It totally baffles me whether to choose Burger King or House of Waffles?” Stiles looks up and wiggles his eyebrows at Derek. “See what I did there? Baffles and waffles.”

Derek keeps on tapping.

“Dude chill.” Stiles snorts. “You will end up making a dent.” Stiles caresses the steering wheel. “I happen to love your car. She is a beauty.”

Derek ignores him.

“I am leaning more towards waffles.” Stiles says. “What do you say?”

It irritates Derek he has started to call him Stiles in his head.

Maybe he IS Stiles.

“Are you never going to talk to me?” Stiles’ scent is laden with sorrow again.

Derek slams on the brakes abruptly.

“What is the matter?” Stiles panics. “Why are you stopping? I cannot see any restaurant here. This is NOT a good place to stop.”

Derek gets out of the car without a word.

“Seriously Der, this is not a nice locality. See those shops over there, they are…oh ok, you are heading there. Alright, never mind!”

Stiles follows him, looking for all the world like a lost puppy.

“Hey, so not to presume anything, but don’t you think it is still a bit early in our relationship.” Stiles babbles. “Or maybe you just want to relax a bit after the rough time you had. I am not judging man. Whatever floats your boat or milks your goat or…ok, I better stop talking.”

The silence lasts for about two blissful seconds.

“Do you actually know what they sell over here?”

Derek removes his sunglass to glare at him.

Stiles puts his hands in air.

“Hey it is a legitimate concern.” Stiles continues, trying to avoid taking a peek at the things Derek has picked up. “How do I know you have the mental age of five or not since you are not sharing much?” Then he adds under the breath, “not that you have a sharing personality. You do have a caring personality, but not a sharing personality. Oh, look at those!”

Stiles picks up a latex glove and snaps it on. He wiggles his fingers curiously.

Derek turns his head to stare at him.

Judging.

“What?” Stiles tries his best innocent face.

Derek raises one eyebrow.

Stiles takes the glove off hastily and puts it back on the rack.

“What the hell are we doing in a sex shop anyway?” He grumbles.

The fiercely tattooed girl behind the counter leers at Derek as he takes out his wallet and pays by cash.

“Have fun with your alpha.” She winks handing him over a plastic carry bag.

Derek smiles beatifically at her and leaves the shop with Stiles following close behind.

He gets behind the wheel and turns towards Stiles. He waits patiently until Stiles has put his seat-belt on.

“What the hell was that for?” Stiles flails. “That was com –”

Derek reaches out and handcuffs him to the passenger side door and puts on the gag on him.

Stiles is so shocked he doesn’t even resist Derek.

“mmmmmmmm…” Stiles says indignantly.

Derek ignores him, as usual.

Half an hour later he is back on I-15 again and he is pulling in front of House of Waffles.

…

“Vegas is coming right up.” Stiles points out.

Derek takes off the highway again. Big cities are full of cops and video surveillance at the traffic lights.

“And we are driving away from Vegas.” Stiles observes.

Half an hour later.

“And we are going right past Vegas.”

Derek finally glances over at Stiles.

“Dude you are bypassing Vegas. Vegas!!! And don’t look at me like that. You are not putting the gag on me again. It was not funny.”

“Derek this is my only chance to be able to visit Vegas and I am not going to…are you at all listening to me?”

“Well it is gone! Thanks a lot.”

…

Stiles finds it in a souvenir shop at Idaho Falls when Derek is busy buying coffee for them.

The city is beautiful, but Derek is not in a mood for sight-seeing. However, Stiles has put his foot down and said he cannot move on without a strong cup of coffee. Derek looked very put upon but he complied with an irritated huff.

It is weird that Derek knows his coffee order by heart and it IS pretty complicated, and that he knows Derek doesn’t like pickles in his burger, but he likes to smother it with mayo and mustard. It is quite disgusting really.

Stiles knows Derek has a triskelion tattoo on his back for Derek pulled over at a motel last night (he refuses to let Stiles drive) near Pocatello and rented a room with two single beds.

He refused Stiles’ offer to pay his share. It was less of a refusing to do it than glaring at Stiles until he removed the hand that he had put on Derek’s shoulder to ask him politely to let him pay.

“I am taking my hand off.” Stiles said meekly.

Derek continued to glare.

“And I am putting away my wallet too.” Stiles sighed.

Derek looked smug.

“Asshole.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, but had let it go.

He slept with his jeans and shoes on, like he wanted to be ready to run at the first sign of danger, but he stripped off his shirt (not that Stiles ogled at him) and went to sleep with his back towards Stiles. Stiles had a glimpse of the tattoo before Derek pulled the bedcover over his head.

Anyway, souvenirs.

Stiles attaches the small plastic figure to the dashboard quickly with the help of double sided sticky hoping against hope Derek doesn't murder him in his sleep.

Derek, in fact, does murder him after taking one look at his dashboard.

By killing his coffee.

Right in front of him.

“Come on Der.” Stiles whines. “You know I cannot go on without my hourly dose of caffeine. My nerves cannot take this torture. It is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Derek calmly overtakes the silver Cadillac which has been racing them since  Pocatello without bothering to answer. Well, nothing new there!

“I thought you will like it.” Stiles crosses his arms. “It looks exactly like you.”

The Cadillac comes up from behind and runs parallel to them with the windows rolled down.

“Hey hot stuff. Why don’t you pull over?” There are three men inside the car including the driver. They reek of booze and stale sex.

Stiles cranes his neck and is about to give them a piece of his mind when Derek places a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the backrest. This is the first time Derek touches him voluntarily after his panic attack. Stiles doesn’t comment on it though his heart is beating wildly partly in hope and partly in fury. But he decides to trust Derek to deal with it.

“Come on now, don’t be shy. If you don’t stop, we are going to make you.”

Derek snorts and floors the gas pedal, easily putting distance with the car which recedes to a tiny dot on the rear-view mirror and finally becomes invisible in a matter of minutes.

“See, the way your lips are turned down at the corner, you look exactly like a grumpy cat. It is not something silly like a bobblehead or hula doll. It is the personification of the car owner.” Stiles points towards the cat figurine sitting silently on the dashboard. 

Derek cannot look more unimpressed.

“People are so ungrateful.” Stiles gripes.

Derek’s lips twitch.

…

It happens at Butte.

Derek comes out of the Starbucks carrying coffee and sandwiches only to find the passenger side of the car door flung wide open with no sign of Stiles.

The food and drinks slip from his hands and splatter on the sidewalk. Derek doesn't notice for his throat has gone dry and his pulse-rate is skyrocketing as he stares at the empty car.

He realizes he is panicking.

He crosses the road, sniffing the air and walks down the sidewalk.

With every step the rising wave of nausea is threatening to overwhelm him.

When he turns the corner, he is almost hyperventilating.

Stiles is pinned against the wall just inside a blind alley by the three assholes from the silver Cadillac, at least one of whom is an alpha. Stiles is putting up a hell of a fight though. A kick connects with the alpha’s ribs and he is doubled over, leaving his hold on Stiles. Another beta is bleeding freely from his nose.

They don’t even notice Derek until he is peeling off the third, douchy-looking blond from Stiles and using the same iron grip around his neck to slam his head against the wall.

Something cracks, and the wolf falls limply down at Derek’s feet.

Derek turns to Stiles who is finishing the job with the alpha with a well-placed uppercut below his jaw.

The beta with a nose-bleed puts his hands in air and takes a couple of steps back. He looks pretty shaken up.

Derek grips Stiles’ hand without thinking and walks away, keeping his senses open.

The wolf pack doesn’t try to follow them.

By the time they had reached Derek’s car, Derek is shaking.

Stiles looks at him curiously.

“Derek?” He asks tentatively, putting his other hand, which Derek is not holding with a bone-crushing grip, on Derek’s bicep.

Derek crowds him against the Camaro and drapes himself on him.

Stiles sighs softly as he feels all tension leave his body as the beautiful scent of the omega smothers his senses.

He hesitates for about two seconds before putting his arms around the trembling man.

“Hey,” Stiles speaks softly against his ear. “Hey, I am ok. We are ok.”

Derek shakes his head in denial, still hiding his face into Stiles’ shoulder.

“Der,” Stiles rakes his hand through the soft hair at the base of Derek’s skull. “Are you back yet? Please be back. Not that this bad-boy persona is incredibly sexy but I miss the real you. Sort of.”

Derek raises his head and steps away, without looking at Stiles.

He is not ready.

Not yet.

He walks around the car and holds the door open for Stiles, who sighs but climbs into the car without pressing further.

Derek is grateful for what is there to say?

That he is so fucked up in the head that people need to tiptoe around his feelings all the time?

That his mind is but a minefield and one wrong move can trigger him anywhere, anytime?

That he remembers everything with a blazing clarity, has been for a couple of hours now, but he still cannot tell Stiles what exactly he is to him as he had promised to himself?

What good will it do?

Stiles is already more involved than Derek has ever wanted him to be and now Derek cannot go back in time and fix it.

The least he can do is to keep up the pretension so that it is easier to slip away when the time comes.


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles is uncharacteristically silent during the drive up to St. Mary and it is kind of grating on Derek’s nerves.

He asks Derek to pull over in front of a quaint, little house and tells him to wait in the car. He emerges after half an hour carrying a brown paper bag and waving back at an elderly couple standing on the porch.

“Sorry about that.” Stiles apologizes while putting on his seatbelt. “I couldn’t risk my uncle and aunt seeing you. They are very fond of teasing me about my non-existent love life and they will immediately think we are…you know? And you sort of have a pretty unforgettable face.”

Derek bits down his lip to keep from smiling. It is getting increasingly difficult with every passing minute, not to react to Stiles.

They make another stop at a shop selling camping supplies before entering into the preserve.

“Now is the time to put to test how much you really trust me.” Stiles smiles nervously at Derek.

He holds out his hand.

“Give me your car-key.”

Derek drops the key into his waiting palm wordlessly.

Stiles seems a bit taken aback but he gets over quickly and jogs over to the store. Derek can see the man sitting at the desk to get up and greet Stiles enthusiastically. Then a wad of notes seems to exchange hands as the car key is traded for camping supplies and packets of dry food.

Stiles soon comes out of the shop with the supplies. He and Derek shoulder their bags and splits the supplies between them.

They enter into the forest on foot.

“That was Joe.” Stiles explains. “He is going to smuggle the car into Canada. He is also the one who is making us fake IDs. It is going to take a couple of days. We are going to lay low until then.”

Derek nods, trusting Stiles’ decision implicitly.

“There is a log cabin deep inside the forest that belongs to my mother’s family. It is around ten hours hike. We will be staying there.”

Derek nods again.

The trail is incredibly scenic with the views of forested mountains below and snow-capped hills that seem painted against the backdrop of an azure sky. It is pretty windy and the temperature drops steadily as they push deeper into the mountains. At some places there are these strange long-stemmed plants with fragrant white flowers scattered amidst the lush green of the valley.

It is early evening when Stiles lets his backpack hit the forest floor with a thump by the side of a small lake.

“I am hungry. Let us take a break.”

…

Stiles has produced a bag of wood shavings triumphantly from his camping supplies bag and has proceeded to make fire. He is out of practice and it is very windy.

Derek suffers through Stiles’ bumbling attempts for about five minutes before swatting his hands away and rebuilding the mound of wood shavings and twigs and firewood into a neat teepee. He looks around and picks up a few rocks to put around it. He motions Stiles, who has been gaping at him, to do the honour.

“And here I thought I am going to blow your mind with my awesome fire-making skill.” Stiles says ruefully.

He lits the fire at his third attempt.

“Now,” he takes out the brown paper bag from his backpack. “It is definitely going to do the trick even if the fire betrayed me.”

“Marshmallows?” Derek raises his eyebrows.

“And sticks to roast them.” Stiles grins, taking out the wonderful object from his bag of goodies.

Derek takes on the roasting duty as well, voluntarily, for, well, it is a bit painful to see Stiles fighting with the confectionery.

“You are staring.” Derek comments, without taking his eyes off the fire.

“I noticed.” Stiles retorts, but he is smiling. “You are talking.”

“I noticed.” Derek huffs. “Why did you stop here? The cabin should be pretty close by?”

“Maybe I always wanted you to make a fire for me and to roast me marshmallows. Maybe I don’t want this stupid road trip to end. Maybe I know you are going to leave me the moment you think I am not looking and so maybe this is my last chance.”

“Last chance of what?” Derek asks.

Stiles waits until Derek looks up and meets his eyes.

“Making memories.”

Derek looks at the way the fire dances over the shadows and plains of Stiles’ face and the way he smells of contentment and the way his eyes are tracing Derek’s face right back, memorizing every detail, because it will soon be over.

What if it doesn’t, his treacherous mind whispers?

What if he wants it for himself and keep it close?

What if he doesn’t let it go?

“What are you doing Derek?” Stiles asks softly. “When I am making memories?”

Derek averts his eyes. He is thinking about surviving, about protecting the people he loves, yes loves, because there is no denying this irrefutable fact now, and he is running away, like a coward from what could have been, what seems to be already his.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” Stiles probes again. “At Idaho Falls or maybe even before that.”

Derek nods, guiltily.

“I am sorry that I couldn’t earn your trust.” There is no judgment in Stiles’ words, only sorrow and regret. “I cannot forgive myself for the things I said to you and I cannot expect you to do it either. The least I can do is to say sorry and to thank you for letting me come with you this far.”

Derek closes his eyes. This is not how he envisaged their good-byes. But that is what it seems like, Stiles giving Derek a way out.

The problem is he is not ready to leave just yet.

He looks up at the night sky where an impossible number of stars are twinkling against the darkness.

“Let us go and find your cabin.”

They put out the campfire carefully, making sure there is not even a single ember left.

The moon is waxing to the fullness by the time they have gone off the hiking trail and walked into the forest. Still it is almost pitch-dark in this part of the mountain. At least the ground has a very gentle upward slope and is not very rocky. Stiles however manages to stumble once in every five minutes. After he nearly face-plants a couple of times, Derek heaves a put-upon sigh and stays close so that he can pull him back by his jacket collar each time he takes a nose-dive, which happens quite a lot. It slows them down a bit. Both of them remain quiet until they reach their destination after nearly a couple of hours. Derek pretends to be annoyed, but there is this buzz under his skin, dulling his senses and there is this feeling that is almost close to contentment thought it is crazy to feel like that under the circumstances. Derek almost startles when Stiles breaks the silence finally.

“Here we are.” Stiles exhales, relief clear in his voice. But Derek’s heart has started drumming even quicker rather than calming down.

Stiles flicks a curious glance at him, but doesn’t comment.

It is located in a small clearing canopied by huge branches of pine and spruce all around. In the dappled patches of silvery light the log cabin looks almost surreal. Stiles takes out a small key from the pocket and opens the door. It is evident the cabin has not been in use for a long time. It contains one queen size bed, a side table, a small kitchen with a kerosene stove, a couple of chairs and a tiny desk. The moonlight is filtering through the large glass window which occupies almost one entire wall, leeching away colour from the interior.

Derek follows Stiles inside and closes the door. Into the small confines of the cabin Stiles’ scent is even more potent. Derek closes his eyes and inhales. Something settles inside him, like peace. Derek covets the peace, wants to wrap it around him like a warm blanket.

He is so fucking tired of running.

“So,” Stiles drops his backpack on the floor and fidgets. “This is...not much. But it is only temporary. I promise.”

“Stiles...”

“I mean I should have probably let my uncle check on the place before coming down because....”

“Stiles...”

“Man,” Stiles flails, “just look at the amount of dust. Thank God I don’t have dust allergy. Do werewolves have dust allergy? Speaking of which –”

He is abruptly cut off as Derek steps up to him, impossibly close. They are almost toe to toe now and Stiles doesn’t even dare to breathe.

“Derek?” He croaks.

Derek’s eyes are closed and he is breathing through his nose, almost harshly.

“Derek...” Stiles tries again. “I am kind of freaking out here man. Are you...do you...you need to say something you know for I am really not good at reading you and I tend to do the wrong things and say the wrong things and then I end up chasing you or hurting you and I just...”

“Stiles.” Derek cuts him off. His breath is now hot on Stiles’ lips and his mouth waters from the intoxicating scent of the omega.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Stop talking.”

And Stiles does. But it is difficult to hold himself still when Derek is so close, voluntarily. Stiles doesn’t know what is going through Derek’s mind. He is such an enigma to him half the time. Then his hands move at their own accord and he grabs Derek’s wrists, bringing them to his chest, holding them close.

Derek snarls at the sudden movement, eyes flashing and all. He jerks away from Stiles and the next thing he knows Derek is at the corner, quietly growling under his breath.

Shit!

“I am sorry!” Stiles calls out, shakily.

Derek clamps his mouth shut, but just watches him with brilliant blue eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Derek?” Stiles calls again. “Please come back. I will not hurt you. I promise.”

Derek blinks a few times, his eyes returning to human colour.

A few minutes pass in silence as the two of them regard each other.

Derek breaks the eye-contact first by looking down.

“I...I...”

“Words, Derek. Those are a thing.” Stiles finally huffs.

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles is so relieved that he can almost cry. The irreverent Derek he will take any day over a panicking, traumatised Derek.

“I want you.” Derek suddenly rushes out and immediately clamps a hand over his mouth. From his startled expression Stiles is sure he has said something he didn’t want to blurt out in the first place.

He tries his best to hide his grin and way his heart starts beating faster at the three simple words.

Derek squares his shoulder and marches on though he is clearly uncomfortable and fighting the urge to shuffle.

“I mean...I...I can be captured and anything can happen next day and I may never see you again.” Derek says and this time he maintains the eye-contact.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Stiles says.

“No...just let me...let me finish.” Derek makes an impatient noise.

“Ok.”

“I like you and I want to be with you. It has never happened for a long time and I am scared.”

“I don’t want you to be scared.” Stiles almost whines.

“I am still scared.” Derek’s voice is small and miserable and Stiles’ heart breaks all over again. “I don’t want to be scared of you. I want to be able to...” He trails off, looking away again. “And I really really like you, ok?”

“Der...”

“I just don’t know how to...” Derek shakes his head impatiently. “I don’t know how to be close to you without feeling scared.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No but I would like to try.” Derek meets his eyes squarely this time. “If you let me.”

Stiles nods, jerkily because he cannot dare use his voice. He is not sure he can. Derek wants him and he likes him and he is scared of him. Stiles doesn’t even know how to process all these together.

Derek walks up to him in slow, deliberate steps, but though he holds his head high it still seems he is angling his body in a way that he is expecting a blow. Stiles doesn’t even know what is with that.

Then Derek is in his personal space again. Stiles goes absolutely still at the first brush of lips. He cannot believe this is happening and he doesn’t want to spook Derek again. As it is Derek does resemble a skittish animal at this point, with his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are almost black, but then his hands are fisting at Stiles’ jacket. Stiles’ nails sink into his palm as he physically restrains himself by sheer will-force not to erase the infuriating distance between them and grab Derek and to bury himself into the omega, just to haul him into his lap and to cover him physically with his body and his large limbs to hide him away, in his heart, and never let go.

But he holds himself back. He has read enough in Derek’s body language to know something has gone terribly wrong in Derek’s past relationship to make him like this. He is not sure he wants to know what happened to him, but he doesn’t want to make any mistake with him. He wants to make him feel safe and loved. He wants to be tender with Derek, take time to unravel him, like a beautiful gift. He wants to touch him, tracing patterns on his bare skin and rake a hand through his silky hair and rain kisses on his eyelashes. He wants all these so much that he is almost vibrating out of his skin with the sheer need of it.

But then his breath leaves his lungs again as Derek angles his head and forces him to part his lips. Stiles’ hands move again and they grab Derek’s head.

Both freeze up immediately.

“Sorry,” Stiles starts to break away. “Sorry.”

“No.” Derek’s hands come up on top on his own to hold them in place. “No.”

“You sure?” Stiles asks for even though Derek is pressing down his hands his eyes are squeezed shut, like he is in physical pain.

Derek just nods, eyes still closed.

“I cannot...” Stiles makes a frustrated noise. “I cannot do it if you are hurting Derek.”

“No...I...” Derek’s eyes fly open and there is nothing but panic in them.

That is it for Stiles. As much as he wants Derek, he cannot do it to him. Stiles tries to reclaim his hands and back away.

“No.” Derek doesn’t give him a chance though. He just gives him a shove hard enough that Stiles’ back is against the wall and Derek crowds against him.

“Derek don’t... stop...oh holy shit!” Stiles breathes out because Derek is kissing Stiles again, roughly and possessively, cupping his jaw with big, strong hands, nuzzling along with his jawline, licking and biting his earlobes and Stiles thinks he is seeing stars. Stiles only comes up for air as Derek breaks away from him and he makes grabby hands at Derek even before registering what he is doing.

Derek takes off his jacket and peels off his shirt over his head. Then he looks at Stiles, looking unsure for the first time. The moon shines on him through the glass window, casting uneven shadows on his face, making it sharper, more angular. Stiles eyes trail down his throat, his bare chest, the dip of his naval and the trail of dark hair that disappear into the waistband of his jeans.

Stiles eyes snap up to his face. Derek is looking lost again.

“Derek I think we need to slow down a bit.” Stiles says though he wants to do anything but. Fuck, he is hardly holding himself back from draping himself all over Derek and scent-marking the shit out of him and fucking him on the bed until Derek doesn’t remember his name. But the look in Derek’s eyes makes him want to go raving mad into the night and hit something.

Derek’s face hardens up minutely.

“You don’t want me.” It is not even a question. It is a confirmation, like Derek knows it is the case and he thinks it is only natural. Like it is what he expects and so is not surprised in the least. “I understand.”

“I want you. God, I want you so fucking much that it hurts.” Stiles pushes off the wall and Derek backs up. Stiles freezes again.

“See what I mean.” He says, exasperated. “You nearly flinch every time I touch you. You smell more of fear than of arousal. How can you expect me to believe you when you say you want me? And then what do you mean that you want me? I don’t want to be your one-night stand if you are just looking for getting off. I would have probably jumped at the chance a month back, but now I cannot do it. Not with you. Not when you only want to have some sort of getaway sex with me. I cannot deal with the aftermath. I just can’t.” He rambles.

Derek regards him silently during the whole rant. Then he exhales, through his mouth, looking for all the world like he is gathering courage.

He takes a tiny step towards Stiles.

Then he resumes stripping, holding his eye-contact with Stiles the entire time. He removes his jeans, slowly, carefully. There is nothing remotely teasing about it. It seems like a ritual, silent and solemn.

It seems like a declaration.

Derek steps out the jeans, moving closer still. Stiles can now grab him with both hands if he wants to, but he doesn’t. Derek’s black boxer brief joins the jeans next and Stiles can see with his wolf vision and can feel the flush spreading over Derek’s cheeks, his ears and necks, blood rushing up, heating the skin as it goes and his scent intensifying to something sweeter, spicier, something that makes Stiles’ mouth water. Moon beams seeping through the huge window slip off his nakedness, bathing him in a preternatural bluish hue.

And Derek looks so stiflingly, painfully vulnerable that something catches in Stiles throat. He wants to clear it, but he doesn’t because it will break the moment impossible in its fragility. It seems like a bubble, and one could just wish it away – that much delicate. Derek just stands there, in his own skin, in the scant light, hands held loosely by his side, though they are twitching nervously like he is fighting the instinct to cover himself. There is a small frown between his eyebrows as he stares at Stiles unwaveringly.

Stiles’ eyes begin to sting.

“I love you.” Derek says and though his voice is low, it is firm in its conviction.

Stiles is stunned into speechlessness.

He knows instinctively just how much courage it takes to do it for Derek is so very private and he never allows anybody to see him past his everything. And now he is literally and metaphorically baring himself to him – body and soul. Stiles’ first instinct is to tell Derek it is not real even though Derek seems to believe it. But he bites down his tongue because he suddenly remembers. Derek has been trying to tell him in his own bumbling way for such a long time and he is time and again second-guessing him, deliberately misinterpreting him or is plain unable to see through the apparent hostility. Being wrapped up in his acute insecurity Stiles has failed to see or to give him the benefit of doubt, something he has been accusing Scott to do.

Derek is still looking at him with the slight frown, unmoving. He doesn’t smell like fear anymore. He smells hurt and confused. Because Stiles has been standing for two whole minutes without moving or without saying anything but just ogling him. Because if Stiles refuses him even at this point, Derek will let him. He has assured Stiles that he ‘understands’ for whoever will want him, not for a quick fuck, not because of the outwards symmetry, not because he is an unmated omega, but for himself, because it is him, Derek? Because of the way his lips twitch at the corner almost imperceptibly at a corny joke, because he growls when somebody steals his food, because he secretly loves curly fries but will die a painful death before admitting it, because of the way he measures out ingredients, sharp and precise, when he is baking and the way he twitches his nose when he smells something unpleasant.

It will be a miracle is somebody does.

Fuck!

Stiles makes himself move even though he would happily stay rooted to the spot staring at Derek entire night if Derek lets him. But it is now or never. He takes a stride to close the remaining distance and gathers Derek up in his arms where he will hide him forever.

For safekeeping.

Even though Derek shrinks down a bit, his hands come up, hesitantly to rest on Stiles’ hip. They are trembling, Derek is trembling in his arms and he tucks his face into the hollow of Stiles’ neck and breathes. Derek’s stubble tickles Stiles’ collarbones, but he holds himself absolutely still because he realises Derek is sobbing silently, pressing his face deeper into his skin. His grip on Stiles’ hips is near-desperate now. Stiles’ arms tighten around Derek in response and he rests his chin on Derek’s head.

“Let it go Der-bear.” He whispers, his own voice wobbling. “Let it get out of your system.”

Derek stills for a moment. Then he begins chanting apologies which is far worse than the tears.

“Sorry...’mso....sorry....’tiles...so so sorry...” Derek is mumbling against his throat.

“Hey, no,” Stiles grabs Derek’s face with both hands and forces him to look up. Derek is the exact same height as he is and their eyes are on the same level, but Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Derek...please look at me.”

Derek drags his eyes reluctantly from the ground to look at Stiles. His eyes are tortured and haunted and watery as fresh tears fall down his cheek. Still he doesn’t make a single sound.

Somebody taught him to be silent, Stiles realises with a jolt. Somebody made him cry, but then doled out punishments when he sniffled and so he had learnt to hide his tears. He had learnt to take pains with a stoic indifference. It was not normal. Somebody conditioned him to be like this.

Stiles rains kisses on each of Derek’s eyes, who squeezes them shut in response.

“Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for!”

“Yes I do.” Derek’s eyes fly open and he is nodding vigorously. “I have endangered your life. Your pack. I have dragged you into this mess and I am too much fucked up to ever be normal and you deserve better. Because you are sane and good. And I shouldn’t have asked more of you than what I have already taken from you.”

This is the most Stiles has heard from Derek and everything is getting clearer to Stiles: Derek was not snubbing Stiles’ advances because he is proud or doesn’t have any feelings for him. Derek has been protecting Stiles, in his own way and he was also protecting himself in turn. He is wary to let anybody into his heart not because his heart is frozen over, but he loves so deeply and fiercely and therefore is easily hurt.

“Hey, hey...” Stiles cups Derek’s cheeks tenderly, thumbing the tears away. “The only way you are allowed to be fucked up is if the subject of the sentence is Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek lets out an involuntary huff of laughter, even though his eyes are still damp.

Stiles kisses the crinkles beside his eyes again.

Just because he can.

“You hanging on?” Stiles asks. “Should I...I mean what exactly did you mean when you said you want me?”

“I want all of you.” Derek smiles faintly. “Why do you doubt me?”

“You can have all of me.” Stiles nods. “But I had to ask for I made a promise to myself never to hurt you again. So I will always ask. Ok?”

Derek nods, face completely serious again. Stiles smiles and rests his forehead against Derek. Derek’s eyes flutter close, his nostrils flaring adorably and he exhales roughly against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles closes the gap tentatively, giving Derek all the time in the world to move back. But Derek just sighs at the questioning brush of Stiles’ lips. Emboldened Stiles makes the next kiss deeper, coaxing Derek’s lips open with his tongue. Derek is hesitant for just about two seconds before opening his mouth wider to Stiles’ exploration. His lips are warm and soft and pliable under his and he smells like honeysuckle and warm sunshine on the wood. When Stiles breaks away they are both breathing harshly.

Stiles carefully avoids looking down because he knows he will lose all semblance of control then. And he will never lose control around Derek. He has to be infinitely careful. He has promised himself to be careful with Derek.

So he keeps his eyes on Derek’s face as he starts with his jawline next. He has been wanting to do it for such a long time. Derek shivers delicately under his hands as his tongue brushes over the rim of his ear and the very next moment Derek’s knees are buckling under him and if Stiles didn’t prop him up quickly with his body, he would have fallen on the ground in a boneless heap. Stiles will still not let himself think he has a naked Derek Hale in his arms or he will lose his shit completely.

Tonight it is all about Derek and Stiles doesn’t want it to be over even before it has begun. So he ducks his head and moans open mouthed into the dip of Derek’s collarbone as Derek tips his head back, baring his throat to him and Stiles can do so much to gulp down the howl. Something primal is rearing its head within Stiles at the sight of Derek, looking so ravished and near-boneless when all he has done is to kiss him. Something wild and feral is taking him over as the heat of Derek’s skin is seeping into him, matching with his own.

Stiles holds Derek tightly until he is steady on his feet and then he releases him only to grab his wrist. Stiles guides Derek to the bed and Derek follows him easily. He sits down at the edge as Stiles proceeds to take off his jacket and pulls his shirt over his head.

He has moved on to the jeans when suddenly Derek’s large hands cover his. Stiles looks down at Derek and he looks back at him questioningly.

Stiles nods and swallows.

Derek’s hands are trembling so badly that it takes two or three attempts to undo the buttons. Then he lowers the zipper and the sound is as loud as a gunshot in the silent room. Derek looks up again, asking permission and Stiles nods again, jerkily.

Derek yanks his jeans down up to the knee only to find he has forgotten to take off his shoes. Stiles cannot even help the hysteric giggles. Derek rolls his eyes like he is regretting his life choices, but Stiles knows better by now. So he bends down and takes off his shoes though it feels ridiculous with his jeans bunching near his knees and Derek watching him keenly. Well it is not all smooth and perfect because it is not a movie and Stiles is not a porn-star. But it is nearly there, perfection, that is, when Stiles has finally discarded his clothes and crowds against Derek whose back hits the mattress with a soft thump and he just lies there, all the hard lines of his body softened in the moonlight, only for Stiles. But he still has his legs clamped together, bend at the knee. That will not do at all because Stiles is going to explore every inch of his omega today and will make him moan his name again and again and that is a promise too.

Derek’s whole body flushes as Stiles parts his legs, caressing the inside of his knees in the process. Stiles is only now realising how difficult it was for Derek to take off his clothes like that and he is grateful because Stiles wouldn’t have made any move if Derek hadn’t made the drastic declaration.

Derek bunches the bedsheet nervously and anxiety is pouring out of him. Stiles doesn’t know what he is so scared of. Being rejected or getting hurt and the fact that Derek still considers either one a possibility makes his throat constrict painfully. Stiles decides he needs to show Derek, just like Derek showed him for at one point words lose their meanings and actions speak louder than any signed declaration.

Stiles bends his head over Derek, taking care not to smother him and kisses him again. This time it is just brief but sweet nibbles and when he moves down Derek’s head comes up to chase his lips. Stiles grins and gives him another chaste peck on the lips before moving onto Derek’s body. Stiles wants to kneel down and worship Derek’s body or to build a shrine in its name. He is just unbelievably gorgeous. Each curve, each line is sheer perfection and Stiles moves his lips, slowly and reverently over his chest, teasing the pale rose nipples with a gentle flick of tongue, followed by a brush of his thumb before moving on to the abs and the sinful dip of the naval. Stiles looks up at the sharp scent of blood to see Derek  is biting his lips bloody.

“No Der...” Stiles reaches up and rescues Derek’s lower lip from his teeth. “Only I get the permission to ravish your lips.”

Derek smiles at him, shy, hesitant and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He kisses Derek again and licks at the blood, feeling them heal under his tongue. This time he makes the kiss dirtier, biting and groaning into Derek’s mouth, taking complete possession of it and Derek lets him. He is trusting Stiles so much with this even though it is evidently so very difficult for him that Stiles wants to sob. He would have if he didn’t have Derek to take care of. He will make this night all about Derek, he has promised himself that and he will not bawl like a baby when it is Derek who has faced God knows what in the awful facility and is still holding himself up, strong and proud.

And to think Stiles gets to have this, this infuriating, beautiful, stubborn and amazing person all for himself and the fact that the stupid fool loves him back – it is just so overwhelming. Stiles pours every bit of his feeling into the kiss, into the way his hands move over Derek’s body and the way he reaches between his legs and touches him, with infinite tenderness, he asks permission with every touch, asking Derek to trust him because he will never hurt Derek, ever. And Derek responds to his touch by arching up to him as a needy whine leaves his throat. Immediately after Derek is flushing and hiding his face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Hey big guy,” Stiles hovers over Derek, uncertain, “you ok there?”

When Derek doesn’t respond Stiles gently grabs his chin and turns his face until he is staring into the hazel eyes. Derek’s cheeks are flushed and he is breathing heavily. Just the sight of him is enough to drive Stiles over the edge. But he holds himself still.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly. “What is wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

“God no,” Derek shakes his head quickly. He closes his eyes briefly and Stiles waits, patiently as he gathers himself. “When you were touching me, I wanted to shout your name.” Derek gulps. “I wanted to make any sound, but...but I...” he trails off.

“Oh God please do. That will be so hot. I don’t think we are in any danger of waking up the neighbours.”

Derek blinks at him. “I can?”

“What? Make sounds? Of course.” Stiles huffs and then his eyes widen in realisation.

There is the shadow of that person again.

The one who taught him to be silent.

Stiles will kill this person and if he is dead, he will disinter their body and kill them all over again.

Stiles cups Derek’s jaw and looks into his eyes.

“Listen to me closely.” Stiles orders and Derek’s eyes locks onto him. “I am going to do sinful things to you now. Things that you will not be able to describe anybody without blushing. I am going to make you feel so fucking good that you will feel like you are walking in the clouds and I want you to make the filthiest sounds possible.” Stiles’ splays both his hands on Derek’s inner thighs.

Derek closes his eyes and opens them again, sighing softly.

“Can you do that for me?”

Derek nods, eyes half-mast.

Stiles dips his head to Derek’s naval again, tasting the salt skin, savouring the sweet scent of the omega and he knows even before he moves down that Derek is hard.

He grabs Derek’s cock without warning and swallows it whole. The only sound that leaves Derek is an anguished cry. Then he starts bobbing his head up and down, first agonisingly slow and then faster and faster. He can hear every rough hitch in Derek’s breathing and every small moan escaping his lips and Stiles is rock hard from that alone. Derek suddenly reaches up and paws at his hands weakly.

Stiles pauses and looks up at Derek who is looking like – fuck – Stiles almost comes right then and there because Derek’s eyes are no more tortured pools of green. His hair is a mess and his eyes are hooded with lust and his lips are wet and swollen – Derek is looking so ravaged that he looks like the embodiment of sin. Nobody has any business to look this much beautiful and this much desirable and smell this much enticing at the same time.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, though he is not sure what. His brains cells are rapidly short-circuiting. Derek surges up and kisses Stiles clumsily, whining pitifully when Stiles is too stunned to respond.

The sound brings Stiles back from whatever la-la land his head has disappeared into and he quickly wraps his hands around Derek’s neck, happily reciprocating. Then he hisses as Derek starts to caress his sides, hesitantly at first, but getting bolder with every passing moment. Derek breaks away from the kiss to bury his face into the crook of his shoulder. He inhales deep and loud and starts to lick him at the pulse point. The gesture echoes straight to Stiles’ groin and he needs to do something about the bulge between his legs because it is getting really painful by now.

Derek whines against Stiles’ skin, again and trails open-mouth kisses. Stiles rubs Derek’s back and his hands dip lower, brushing over his hips, finally resting on his ass and Derek suddenly stiffens up in his arms.

“Der?” Stiles questions.

Derek nods, jerkily, not looking up.

“Der,” Stiles hooks a finger under Derek’s jaw and makes him look up.

“What do you want? Tell me what do you want?”

“You.” Derek whispers, simply and without any hesitation.

Stiles’ wolf is howling in joy. Finally, it is happening. It is truly happening. Stiles doesn’t even try to wipe the wide grin that threatens to split his face into two. Derek doesn’t smile, but his face softens further, the serious frown between his eyebrows disappearing and he looks young, unsure.

“If you want me.” He whispers again, suddenly nervous.

“Damn Der.” Stiles shakes his head fondly. “Don’t you get it? You had me at the first time you almost died on me. You have me wrapped around your little finger dude. I am yours to take and yours to reject. There was never any question of not wanting you because I will always, always want you.”

Derek stares at him for a couple of seconds before taking his face and kissing him again. This time Stiles lets Derek take control of the kiss as he tips his head back, baring his throat in the process. Derek makes a helpless noise at the back of his throat and pushes his tongue into his mouth, hot and sweet, dominating and gentle at the same time, exactly how Derek’s basic nature is, buried beneath layers of anger and history of abuse and mistrust.

“Need you inside me.” Derek mumbles into his mouth and Stiles takes a sharp breath. Derek breaks the kiss and looks at him.

“Can you lie down on your stomach for me?” Stiles asks and Derek complies without words.

The sight of Derek spread on the bedsheet, only for him is enough for his cock to twitch in anticipation.

“Please, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is hoarse. “Hurry.”

But suddenly Stiles remembers he doesn’t have any supplies with him. It was a trip to rescue and safe-housing Derek and not some erotic adventure.

Stiles wished he had the foresight to buy some lubes at the sex store where they had stopped yesterday.

“Stiles,” Derek calls out. Impatient.

“I don’t have lube.” Stiles blurts out, feeling like a fool.

Derek frowns and looks back proping up on his elbows. He grabs Stiles hands and unceremoniously swallows the fingers whole. That is the singular-most erotic thing Stiles has seen so far.

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaims.

“There.” Derek releases Stiles’ fingers with a pop. “Now fuck me.”

This is how Derek really is, strong, proud, unafraid and equal to an alpha in every sense of the word, if not better.

Stiles finally tears his eyes away from Derek and rolls him over. He pins his hands over his head and caresses his back gently. Derek arches up to the touch again, breathing hitching up, as Stiles’ hand travel lower and lower and finally finds the opening he is looking for. Derek groans and presses his face into the pillow. Stiles ducks down to mouth at the beautiful, dark swirling tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades.

After this every touch is electric and every breath is coming in staccato. Stiles’ nerves are frayed from the stimulations. He doesn’t know where to concentrate: on the sweet moans that is emanating from Derek or his scent permeating his senses, driving his wolf crazy or the velvet feel of Derek’s skin where he has pinned down his wrists or the way he is arching back to press into Stiles, or the way he feels, on the inside, hot and tight and wet, for him, only for him.

Stiles is lost to the myriad sensations, his own erection hard, bordering on painful even. Still he takes time with Derek, prepping him and opening him up carefully, scissoring his hands that draws a sharp yelp of surprise from Derek that is pure pleasure going by the way his scent spikes.

“P-please.” Derek stutters. “Stiles?” His voice breaks.

Stiles leaves his hold on Derek’s wrists and wraps a hand around Derek’s torso and his palm finds Derek’s heart, beating wildly against the ribcage.

That is my doing. Stiles thinks.

“Derek?” He cannot even recognise his own voice.

“I need you...Stiles...please...please...” Derek blabbers.

“I know baby.” Stiles nuzzles Derek’s back. “I know.”

He grips his hips and lines up against Derek’s body, open and ready for him. Then he surges in one swift motion. Derek whimpers under him and presses back. He bends down and licks a long stripe starting from Derek’s shoulder blade to the area behind his ear and then he nips on the lobes, remembering how Derek reacted to it before.

“Let me hear you babe.” Stiles coaxes as he starts to move gently inside Derek. “Let me hear you moan.”

Derek whines low in his throat. He seems quite incapable of forming words yet. He reaches underneath him to touch his own dick, but Stiles quickly gathers his hands and pins them by his sides.

“No,” he commands gently, increasing speed. “You are going to come like this.”

Derek pushes back urgently and matches his rhythm and Stiles closes his eyes. The delicious skin on skin friction is driving him half out of his mind. Pleasure is shooting at every nerve point, fireworks going off behind his close eyelids. But above all Stiles feel connected with Derek in a way that he feels like they have been doing this ancient dance since the beginning of time. This is right, Derek in his arms, trusting and demanding, receiving and giving near-unbearable pleasure. This is how it is meant to be. This is what he knows and understands and can hold onto in this chaotic world. This is where he can make his home, in Derek’s breath hot against his throat, in the small uptick of Derek’s lips, in the cleft of his chin, in the curve of his waist, in the dark ink of his tattoo, in the mossy green of his eyes. Here he can lie in peace and never, ever want anything else. This is where his road ends.

Derek is saying something, over and over, like a mantra, muffled by the pillow. Stiles bends his head to listen and it is just ‘Stiles, Stiles, Stiles’ over and over again.

Stiles jerks and then he is coming, so hard that his vision whitens out and Derek  follows close behind, toes curling, back arching and Stiles still fucks Derek as tremor after tremor passes through their bodies, almost in unison.

Finally he collapses on his beautiful omega and peppers kisses on the impossible muscles on his back, neither of them apparently in a hurry to move.

But eventually Stiles pulls out with a sigh and stands on wobbly leg to find his t-shirt. He wipes Derek and himself. Derek has promptly covered himself with a blanket without bothering about clothes. So he decides to go back to bed too, with his clothes discarded on the floor haphazardly. Derek lifts a corner of the blanket invitingly. As soon as he is there Derek grabs his arm and turns round, placing the arm around himself and holding it tight.

Stiles chuckles.

“Big guy wants to be the little spoon.” He raises his eyebrow. “You should have just told me instead of all the manhandling.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Derek orders, but the sharp tone is countered by the fact that he has his fingers laced through Stiles’ and placed over Derek’s heart.

It seems like another declaration: my heart is yours to keep safe.

The tears finally win and roll down Stiles cheeks as he props on his elbow and kisses Derek sloppily on the cheek.

“Mnph.” Derek protests sleepily.

Stiles laughs softly and buries his face into Derek’s neck.


	21. Chapter 21

They are still tangled up with each other when something slams against the glass window.

“Stiles?” Derek sits bolt upright, poking Stiles in the arm.

“Is that a...goat?” Stiles has also sat up, squinting at the window beyond which a large white figure is moving to and fro agitatedly.

“A mountain goat.” Derek corrects him distractedly.

The goat rams against the glass window again with considerable force.

“A suicidal mountain goat?” Stiles exclaims.

Derek is first to recover from the shock. He clambers down the bed and picks up Stiles’s jeans to throw them to him.

“Get dressed.” He orders, already putting on his jeans. “We need to move.”

“What? Right now? It is still pretty dark.” Stiles whines, but he obeys Derek.

“Something is wr –”

Derek's voice is drowned by the sound of the glass window shattering into million little pieces. Both of them duck down instinctively, hands clamped over their ears to block out the grating noise.

“What the hell?” Stiles stands up, glaring at the rock lying amidst the broken pieces of glass.

He walks forward gingerly, avoiding the glasses.

“No Stiles...get back!”

“Where did the stupid goat go?” Stiles stalks forward, peering outside. “I didn’t know goats can throw st–”

“STILES!” Derek shoots forward, ignoring the broken glasses crunching under his bare feet.

“Oh!” Stiles spins round to face Derek. He seems surprised more than anything else.

Derek freezes.

There is a little hole on Stiles’ bare skin just above the heart and a trickle of black blood is oozing out of it.

He drops down to his knees, his eyes glued to Derek’s who is still frozen into one place.

“Run.” Stiles slumps forward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Derek would have caught him if there were no strong hands from behind twisting his arms and forcing him on his knees.

Derek realises after sometime that the animal cries are coming out of his throat, but he cannot seem to make himself stop.

 

....

 

The slap is hard enough to almost break his neck, but that is not what finally silences Derek; it is the accompanying words:

“Stop crying. Do you want to save him or not?”

Derek blinks a few times and focuses on the man trying to get a response out of him for the last quarter of an hour without success.

He spits out the blood along with a couple of tooth.

“Yes.”

“You are going to humour me today my darling. You will say ‘yes sir.’”

“Yes Sir.” Derek doesn’t even hesitate, meeting Deucalion’s glassy eyes.

Deucalion nods, pleased.

“Good boy.” He reaches out, gently rubbing at the corner of Derek's mouth, wiping away the blood trickling down from there.

Derek doesn’t react. He just hangs limply from Enis’ hold on him, staring blankly at Stiles’ prone body.

Deucalion gets down on one knee in front of Derek to be at his eye-level.

“You already know what I want.”

Derek nods.

“So we are not going to waste any time.”

“Save him first.” Derek meets his eyes this time. “I need to see he is alive and you have to promise you will let him go.”

“Ok.” Deucalion says easily.

“And you will not hurt his pack or Isaac or Erica or Cora. This...escape is my responsibility and you will not punish anybody for this.”

“My sweet boy.” Deucalion cups his face with both hands this time. “I only want you. Why would I need to punish anybody if I have you?”

“Because you are a monster.”

Enis yanks his arm painfully. Derek grits his teeth against the pain as his right arm is almost dislocated from the socket.

“Enis!” Deucalion looks at his bodyguard.

“Sorry Duke, but this scum of earth is –”

Deucalion stands up.

“Leave him.”

“But...sir?”

“Let him be.”

Enis releases Derek reluctantly who immediately crawls to Stiles. He turns him over gently. Stiles has a pulse but it is very weak. Even more alarming than that are the dark veins visible under his skin radiating from his wound like a sinister web.

Wolfsbane.

Just as Derek feared.

“Ethan, hand me the pliers.”

Ethan, one of the twins who always guards Deucalion’s door, steps forward and takes out a pair of pliers from inside his jacket pocket.

“Enis, please open your mouth.” Deucalion says politely.

Enis is visibly pale, but he obeys the alpha immediately.

Deucalion grabs his jaw with one hand and feels up the inside of his mouth with the fingers of his other hand. Then he is slotting the pliers against one of his molars.

Derek averts his eyes. He gathers Stiles’ limp body into his arms and buries his face into Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply, memorising his scent.

A plan has begun to formulate in his mind, but he knows in any case it is probably the last chance to get this close to Stiles.

Never again.

Enis’ muffled whimpers reverberate through the room, but Derek doesn’t bother to look up.

Never again a beautiful mouth will call him in all sorts of ridiculous names, eyes sparkling with mischief. There will be no more gentle hands wrapping bandages around his sprained ankle, taking away his pain. There won’t be any more road-trips, losing their ways and re-discovering them across Utah or Idaho. There won’t be any hiking through the mountains or roasting marshmallows on an open fire under the starlight. All the stupid pranks and the stupid arguments and the back and forth...never again.

Never again making love to someone in the moonlight, like writing a story. Exploring each other’s moving bodies, heated skin, slow and languid, like world’s sweetest torture, whispering promises into each other’s ears, feeling a happiness so bone-deep that you just want to wrap the memory of it around you and go to sleep, never wanting to wake up. Ever.

Never. Again.

Derek refuses to let Stiles go even when Ethan cuts through Stiles’ flesh with his claw to take out the bullet.

“Derek, it is time,” Deucalion calls out.

“You need to treat the poison first.” Derek says without looking up from stiles’ face.

“Once the bullet is out of his body he will survive up to twenty-four hours,” Deucalion says with measured calm.

“Of course the poison will mix up with his bloodstream and he will be in incredible pain and after the twenty-four-hour window is over he is going to die.”

“So take it out,” Derek pleads. “You promised you will save him.”

“I know what I promised.” Deucalion huffs. “But how do I know you are not going to go back on your word once he is out of immediate danger?”

“I won’t – ”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I am not going to leave it on chance today after spending so much time and effort and money on finding you.”

“So what do you propose?” Derek asks, resigned.

“I want to give you a mating bite. Right now,” Deucalion declares.

Derek stiffens up.

“Well, don’t worry I am not going to go through the full ritual at some log cabin in the wilderness. It is a matter for celebration and celebrate we will.” Deucalion smiles.

“I need only a bite.”

Derek knows it is not only ‘a bite’ it is ‘the bite’, marking him forever for an alpha even though the bond is not complete until the omega bites the alpha back. In the eyes of law an alpha cannot give a mating bite to an unwilling omega and if they do it the bite won’t hold. Therefore there is no escape from it. The alpha is also equally bonded to an omega through the bite.

It is pretty irreversible.

“You know what Derek I am running out of patience...”

“Do it.”

“Sorry I can’t hear you.” Deucalion says, deadpan.

“Please do it. Sir.” Derek says without any inflection, staring fixedly on the ground.

Deucalion smirks.

“Leave us.” He orders. “And carry this young man to the car and make sure he is comfortable there.”

Derek keeps on looking at Stiles until they carry him out of his sight. Then his gaze is fixed on the floor again.

Deucalion approaches him with slow, deliberate steps.

Derek straightens his spine and clasps his hands behind him balling them into fists.

“You know I can smell him inside you.” Deucalion stops in front of him.

Derek stares at his shoes.

“Some would say it is disgusting, but not I.” He hooks two finger below Derek’s chin, making him look up.

“I know you don’t want me. That makes it all the more exciting don’t you think.” He cocks his head. “It will be something to tame you, to have you under me everyday, knowing how much you hate me. Still you are going to sit by my side and obey my every command and be my good, little omega on whom I will dote because now you know what are the consequences if I am pushed too far.”

He gets on his knees in front of Derek.

“And you will be my good omega. Will you not my darling? My beautiful boy?”

Derek holds his breath as Deucalion leans in. He is screaming inside his head, but he doesn’t move a milimeter. Deucalion’s hands slip on his collar bones, tracing them lightly and then it drops lower, fingers ghosting on his chest, his sides and then there is tongue.

Derek is numb. He doesn’t feel scared or disgusted or any feeling known to human. He is completely empty.

Or maybe not exactly empty. A part of him is still living in the moment when somebody touched him with such love and tenderness only a few hours back, in this very room.

Probably that is why Deucalion wants to do it here. It is his way of removing that particular memory and replace it with this, whatever this is.

Staking a claim?

Showing off his power?

Breaking someone’s will?

Derek's mind supplies it is much simpler, but he cannot bring himself to think of that word. Not again.

Derek shuts himself down. Otherwise he cannot go through it and Stiles is still bleeding black blood just outside this room. The sooner this is over the better for Stiles.

So Derek doesn’t put up a fight or cry or beg or do anything other than be completely passive and let him take what he wants from Derek, what he is under the illusion that he can have from Derek. Derek is a shell and he has nothing to give. But Deucalion doesn’t understand it.

Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

Derek grits his teeth as Deucalion’s teeth sink into his flesh right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Heady power surges into Derek’s bloodstream; sadistic thoughts warring with cold calculation and the will to possess and to dominate flash through his mind with such blinding clarity that he can pick them up by the strands.

Along with that a cruel love that wants to burn everything on its way.

Derek realises none of these is his own.

Then there is a roar outside.

It comes from Stiles.

Deucalion still has his arms around him and he is murmuring something into Derek’s ears, he is not sure what when Stiles stumbles into the room, the twins and Enis trailing after him, trying and failing to hold him back.

Their eyes meet across the room for a fraction of a second before Stiles passes out again. He is pale as death and Derek cannot even hear his heartbeat from where he is sitting.

“I gave you one job!” Deucalion is standing up, his tone utterly furious. “You cannot even hold one al –“

Derek reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Please.” He pleads. Finally, his voice is breaking on the single syllable, but he doesn’t care. “Please.” He whispers again.

Deucalion nods curtly.

It is eerie that Derek can feel the decision made even before Deucalion opens his mouth.

“Very well.” He says. “Ethan?”

Ethan takes out a bullet from his pocket and tears its head with his teeth. He lights up the powdered wolfsbane and Derek doesn’t dare to remove his eyes from Stiles even when Stiles thrashes about like a madman as the wound is sealed up with the grey ashes.

When Stiles wakes up after a few hours, he is lying on the bed of his log cabin all alone and the scent of Derek mingled with that of Deucalion has already started to fade away.

 

...

 

“Lydia?” Stiles answers the phone.

“The press conference starts in five minutes.” Lydia's voice is calm, too calm in fact, but Stiles knows better.

“I know Lyds.” Stiles sighs. It has been all over the news. The alpha of alphas, the king among all werewolf politicians, the mighty Deucalion has given a mating bite under tragic circumstances to an omega, one of the famous Hales, the last omega of their bloodline in fact,  who is currently under treatment at AACF and is about to propose him to complete the mating ritual. Publicly. In the middle of a fucking press conference.

"Where the hell are you?”

“RWCB Headquarter.”

“Is Derek there?”

“I am not sure.” Stiles looks at Derek.

Derek who is staring off into the space and hasn’t spoken yet.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s voice is dangerous.

“Oh ok, I don’t know Lyds. He is here. Ok?” Stiles rubs his face with his  hand. “Chris has smuggled me into his holding cell. They have even provided him with a landline phone in anticipation of Deucalion’s call.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We are trying to figure something out. We have about five minutes before the other agents get suspicious. But he is just...” Stiles trails off helplessly.

Derek’s eyes suddenly snap to him and it looks like he is coming out of a daze.

“Stiles?” He calls out softly. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh he is back. Thank God.” Stiles places a hand over his heart. “I will call you later Lyds.”

He disconnects the call.

“Derek,” Stiles takes a step towards Derek.

“Don’t.” 

Stiles stops dead in his track.

“He says the next time it won’t be one inch above the heart.” Derek whispers. His eyes are impossibly wide. “He says it will go clean through the heart.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do!” Derek shouts. “Do you think I can live with myself if something happens to you?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “You just cannot quit fighting. Not after what we have gone through together.”

Derek sighs. “I promise you I am not quitting. I am going to fight till the end.”

“How do you explain that then?” Stiles points to the angry red mating bite on Derek’s neck.

“You are not going to hold this on me.” Derek’s eyes flash blue in anger. “I will go through that again if that is what it takes to save your life.”

Stiles deflates. “I know. God, I am so sorry. It is just that my blood is boiling just looking at it and I keep on seeing Deucalion draped all over you, in the very room we...we...”

“I know.” Derek says, looking away. “I know.”

Then he looks back at Stiles again. “I still meant what I said then. I mean it now and I will mean it forever. But there is only so much I can do. There is only so much I can salvage. But I promise you I am never, ever going to stop fighting.”

“Guys,” Chris Argent speaks up. “We are running out of time.”

“You are right.” Stiles crosses his arms. “So let us get to the point. Are you ready to testify against Gerard? Dr. Deaton has already agreed. So is Allison, though she doesn’t know much. What about you?”

“I am ready.” Chris heaves a sigh. “But I am not sure it is going to help Derek.”

“I can still refuse.” Derek starts tentatively. "When Deucalion calls me."

Chris looks at Stiles. "You are the paramedic here."

Stiles grimaces.

"What?" Derek frowns. "I can refuse. Can't I? I am not going to be able to mate with anybody else, but that is ok. That way he cannot take his anger on anybody but me."

“Yes, except for you would be in so much pain you would want to saw off your own arm each time you are in heat without your alpha near you. You see suppressants won’t work for you anymore now that you are halfway mated. Also have I mentioned that you will continuously suffer from side effects of being separated from your alpha? It is not much, just acute depression, neurosis, near-constant headache and in some rare cases chronic schizophrenia.” Stiles rambles.

"You are already feeling some of it. Aren't you?" Stiles narrows his eyes.

“I can live with that.” Derek averts his eyes.

“No you don’t understand.” Chris Argent sighs. “In your case it doesn’t work like that for you won’t even have the freedom to suffer through the side-effects, terrible though as they are.”

Right. He is still an omega in the red zone, a danger to the society, to people in general.

“You have no other options open Derek.” Chris Argent sounds regretful. Derek thinks he may be imagining it. “You must accept Deucalion as your alpha or you have to go back to the Correctional facility.”

“No.” Stiles’ face is etched with horror. “No, not again. Anywhere but there.”

Derek stares at the floor, pretending to tune Stiles out. He should have seen it all coming, blinding clear. He should have known the life he has built around him is so very fragile that it will come tumbling down sooner or later. But he didn’t know it would be so soon!

He has just barely started to put all the pieces together. He has his own coffee mug in a damn cupboard of a damn apartment which he has started to call home. He has two friends to give super-ugly sweaters on Christmas and in turn receive tacky gifts like a squirrel feeder (Derek lives in a highrise building in an industrial area) or a cigarette dispenser (Derek doesn’t smoke). He has even set up colour codes for ‘emergency situations’ with his roommates. They have a code blue and a code red and Erica insisted to have a code pink for wardrobe emergencies whatever the hell that means!

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice is small and uncertain. “Maybe...maybe you should...fuck I cannot believe I am saying this!”

Derek looks up at Stiles finally, though he would really rather not.

“Choose Deucalion Derek. Please”

And Derek’s heart stops beating, stops doing whatever motion it has been faking to do and it just stops. Like that!

“I cannot see you become a vegetable.” Stiles is not looking at Derek anymore. His eyes are fixed on a spot near Derek’s shoulder and his voice has gone whisper-quiet. “I cannot...see you...you are...you have this fire in you. You are the embodiment of fire that destroyed your life. You are just...rude and infuriating and frustrating and pig-headed and opinionated and argumentative and you are just...you! And I cannot...”

Stiles wipes his eyes angrily, like he would like to tear out his eyelids with the movement. A few drops still escape and hover uncertainly from his chin.

“You must LIVE Derek. You are...at least you will have a life.”

“And you?” Derek cannot help asking. Stupid, stupid Derek! “What about you?”

“I will be fine.” Stiles smiles thinly at him. “I will be fantastic, as always. I am...” Stiles doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t trail off, but it seems he sees the pointlessness.

He just shrugs.

The words are there, but they lose meaning. They are all hollow. The sound is there, but the essence is missing.

Derek stares at Stiles and it seems they are staring at each other since the beginning of time.

The phone rings but none of them react.

“Derek, you need to take that call.” Chris Argent’s voice is quiet, gentle and no, Derek is not imagining it. He just wishes he gives a damn. He wishes he can hear the apology in every syllable uttered and give the man something, eye-contact, at the very least.

But he is only capable of this much.

He is still standing under the weight of the decision he is about to make is he not?

He is still breathing.

After Paige, after Kate, after fire, after Laura, after Deucalion...

Doesn’t that count?

His eyes are still dry.

And he is looking at Stiles: five feet away and a million miles apart.

Stiles’ shoulders are drooping. He is hunched under his own weight and his eyes have already lost all its sparkle and he is silent.

Stiles is silent.

Derek takes the call.   

“Omega Derek Hale. This is Deucalion. I am calling you from a press conference and this call is on speaker mode.”

Derek can hear the quiet murmur of voices.

“I know, and before you say anything I have something to say to you.”

“Well...”

Derek takes a deep breath.

“Alpha Deucalion, I wish to issue a challenge against you and by extension to your pack for a fight until death or until one of us taps out, whichever comes first at any place or time convenient to you.” Derek is still staring at Stiles when the words fall from his lips, words stilted and formal that have been uttered for over million times by countless people in centuries, a custom that is almost obsolete, gone out of fashion with time.

Deucalion doesn’t speak for one whole minute.

The murmur has died down completely, leaving a hushed silence.

Nobody speaks, or moves, or breathes.

“Well I didn’t see that coming.” Deucalion finally breaks the silence first. “What are the terms of the challenge?” Though it is posed as a question it is apparent from his voice that he already knows the answer.

“If I win,” Derek allows himself to take another breath. “If I win, I will be allowed to remove the mating-bite and I will get back my life. No more trying to manipulate me into submission. If I win you will let me be.”

“Will that life include Alpha Stilinski?” Deucalion chuckles.

“I believe it will not be your business anymore.”

“Defiant till the end.” Deucalion smirks again. “And if you lose?”

“It won’t matter.” Derek says. “Because I am not going to tap out.” He puts the receiver back.

A sound escapes from Stiles’ throat – like a wounded animal.

When he stumbles forward it doesn’t look like he is conscious of moving. It is like he is simply helpless against some force that is pulling him towards Derek and then Derek lets him this time. He breaches the distance and lets Stiles collapse into him. They are not even kissing, but just holding on tightly, to each other for time is precious and time is something they don’t have and they just want to hold on to the other and to time. But time is not there, only them.

Chris clears his throat. “I am...I will be outside.”

Derek still cannot bring himself to acknowledge the silent act of kindness.

He is busy to have Stiles around him. He is busy to burrow himself deeper into his favourite smell, that draws him in and pulls him apart at the same time. He is busy calming down his heart beating faster than swallow wings and his blood is humming under Stiles’ touch, rising to the surface.

If this is what love feels like, he is happy he had this much, no matter what tomorrow may hold in store for him.

“When I said don’t quit fighting I didn’t mean this.” Stiles sobs. “I swear I didn’t mean this.”

“I know.” Derek smiles against his skin. “But I did.”


	22. Chapter 22

He can pick up the sounds of heartbeats as he nears the clearing with a couple of RWCB guards caging him between them and there are far more than he anticipated. Derek frowns, but doesn’t slow down. Soon he is breaking through the tree-line to appear in front of his house, a desolate ruins the country has not demolished yet for some reason after they took it over a couple of years back.

Well, he has not been expecting spectators. He expected the guards, quite a few of them controlling the crowd, but not the spectators. But here they are and the only thing missing is a Colosseum, and probably an emperor in the stand to cheer along with the rabble.

Then Deucalion draws his attention with a drawling “so you came?”

His face is unreadable, but something is prodding in Derek’s mind, like a sense of unease that is frustrating and kind of ordering him lash out and hit someone, a feeling that it is not quite going according to plan. Derek knows better than to surrender to this particular feeling for he knows where it is coming from.

Derek makes himself look Deucalion into the eyes or at least the dark glasses hiding his eyes.

“Pretty sure I was the one who threw down the glove so to speak.” Derek replies calmly, situating himself roughly five feet away from the alpha and letting his hands hang loosely by his sides.

If his hands want to curl up into tight fists and if his arms are itching to fold across the chest defensively, it is nobody’s business and he can rein it in. The primal urge that tell him to cower and duck, bare his neck in submission for he is standing in front of an alpha and his pack – challenging him, well it can go and fuck itself for all he cares.

“Well, we can start then.” Deucalion smirks. “The crowd is getting impatient.” He gestures dismissively with hand.

Derek tears his eyes away from the alpha and looks around him. Then with a start he realises not all of them have gathered to see the death of a crazy omega at the hand of the most powerful alpha of the continent, because Scott and Stiles were also there along with others. Derek scans the crowd to seek out his friends (and boy it stings to have friends, finally when all has come to a head and he has not even an hour to live!)...Erica and Allison standing side by side and Boyd just behind Erica, holding her back by the shoulders (restraining her from flinging herself at Derek most likely). Lydia is standing beside Allison. Then there are other members of Scott and Stiles’ pack – the human boy with dimples, Danny, Liam, Mason, a tall boy with an angelic face, a blue-eyed boy with a scowl on his face and a petite and demure girl and finally....

Malia slams into him, knocking him backward and almost making him fall on his ass. Derek’s hands wrap around the girl automatically, balancing her and she just tucks her face into the crook of his shoulder and screams.

“No...no...no...”

Derek is so shocked that he is momentarily speechless. Then he gently takes her shaking shoulders and pulls her back a little.

“Malia?” He asks wonderingly.

“D-e-r-e-k, D-e-r-e-k, Derk, Der....” she screeches in answer, eyes blinded with tears. “No...leave...no...Der...”

Her pitch is way too high and her pronunciation broken and she is mutilating his name, but Derek doesn’t mind at all. He gathers the girl in his arms and holds her close until she stops struggling against him.

“I am not leaving you, ok?” He murmurs into her ears. “I promise I will be with you. Always. You just need to close your eyes and sleep. I will visit you in your dreams.”

His eyes go involuntarily to Stiles over her shoulder and lock with his and he goes on, without taking his eyes off him.

“If there is one butterfly that flutters close to you or a gust of wind that ruffles your hair or a bramble that catches your dress or a snowflake that kisses your forehead, those are me. I will be around you...like a warmth, like a lingering scent...I will live, through you...all of you.”

And he will not cry, though Stiles has silent tear-tracks drying on his cheeks and fresh ones welling up in his eyes. Though his friends are all crying for him, he will not cry. There is nothing to cry about. His time is done and he has made peace with it.

He has lived his life and has loved unconditionally and has people loving him back with equal generous abandon. He has left his guilt and his mistakes and his stark grief behind and he is determined to remember the good things only. He had his road-trip and his roasting marshmallows by the fire and his little, fairy-tale cottage in the jungle and his love-making in the light of moon. He had his chance, his falling in love and breaking up and falling back together again and he had his little tiffs and making up and he had this one gloriously clear moment when he knew he was wanted – and it was devastating, the truth in the other person’s eyes, holding him close and holding him captivated and he lived for that moment and will die for it. So it doesn’t matter anymore now.

He has made his memories, as Stiles said.

He is ready.

“Well, if we have enough of the catching up, maybe we can get on with it.”

And of course there is Gerard fucking Argent, who will act as the official moderator on behalf of RWCB.

He is standing with his back to the crowd and his face isn’t even trying to hide the secret glee.

“Wait.” Stiles shouts at the same time Derek nods tersely.

Stiles saunters forward confidently with Lydia by his side and stands beside Derek, though a couple of foot away from him and consciously not looking at him.

“Stiles...”

Stiles ignores Derek and fixes his eyes on Deucalion who has finally taken his glasses off and passed it to Kali standing just behind him.

“I bet this is not the outcome you imagined when you practically kidnapped Derek the day before yesterday.”

Deucalion looks over Stiles’ shoulder at something and his face becomes stonier.

“If by kidnapping you mean how I captured a rogue omega on the run, who is a danger to himself and to others and how I prevented an unscrupulous alpha taking advantage of him then, yes.”

Derek realises the thing he has been looking at is a T. V. Camera. The entire charade is being recorded for posterity or is probably, better still, streaming live on the national television. Well, it is not everyday that an omega challenges an alpha (read never) and the last time any challenge of this sort happened was almost half a century ago. This is reality television at its finest. People have a right to get some entertainment out of it. Life in general is hard and boring as fuck.

“Whether Derek ever deserved to be red-zoned will remain to be seen as there is an appeal underway filed by his friend and pack-mate Isaac to the San Francisco office of RWCB and this time there will be a jury involved.”

Ok, so that explains Isaac’s absence today, but what the hell are they thinking? What good will come of it anyway? Derek wants to take Stiles by the shoulders and shake him. It will only stir up more trouble for their pack which is full of teen-agers and they will get _hurt_ trying to avenge Derek.

“Stiles, it is ok.” Derek says softly, reaching out for him.

Stiles jerks away from his touch and doesn’t even look at him.

“Think about it Deucalion, you are going to fight an omega. A helpless creature with half your strength and there is very real possibility of you killing him. I bet it will look good on your political resume – graduated from Oxford, specialises in douchbaggery and killed an omega. Imagine how impressive it will be when you stand here with Derek’s blood on your hands and I bet people will cheer you on as you rein blows on him, breaking his bones one by one...I mean I can even visualise that – big, bad alpha like you, defeating an omega. Wow, that is...really something heroic. How people will worship you for saving them from this maniac...”

Stiles points towards Derek who is standing with a dumbfounded look on his face and his arm still around Malia’s shoulder who is growling quietly under her breath and this time at Stiles.

“I mean look at him. He is clearly feral, isn’t he? He needs to be red-zoned or put down like a dog. Look how uncontrollable he is that when an unknown, half-feral alpha tackled him almost to the ground he actually hugged her...can you fucking believe that?”

“Stiles,” Derek starts with a low tone.

“No.” Stiles turns towards Derek. His eyes are dry for a change this time. “No.” He says again, looking dead into Derek’s eyes.

“You Deucalion, alpha of alphas or whatever the hell you are, you are going to kill this omega in front of his house that another alpha burnt to the ground with his entire family inside it and if she hadn’t got trapped inside, I am sure she would have gone scot-free and this guy here would take the blame. He still does.”

Stiles pauses and looks at Deucalion, ignoring Derek’s warring emotion.

He knows Stiles is trying to save him but did he really need to go there? Derek doesn’t want to talk about his family to strangers and he doesn’t want anybody’s pity.

“You, Deucalion, are going to victimise this person again who has already gone through a lot. When it is clear that he doesn’t want you to the extent that he has to invoke an archaic custom so that he doesn’t get to complete the mating ritual you forcibly started...”

The crowd lets out a collective gasp at that, but Stiles continues, to Derek’s horror.

“...you are the one who is going to take advantage of him because he is a born omega. He doesn’t have the means needed to stop you, you are going to force his hands and you are going to take him in spite of the fact that he doesn’t want you. And you are still under the delusion that it is going to make you a hero to be defeating an omega, the weakest one, the ones all alphas are sworn to protect legally and genetically, the one who is meant for comfort and love and protection. I...”

Derek pushes Malia back from him gently and reaches out to clamp a hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“Don’t.”

“But...Derek...” Stiles still tries to speak around his fingers.

Derek plants himself in front of Stiles, with his back towards Deucalion and takes his face in his hands.

“Please don’t Stiles.” He whispers, so that it is only him or probably Deucalion who picks up his words. “I do have the means. These are my means. I have made this choice. Voluntarily. Don’t you dare play the weak omega card for me or try to garner sympathy from people. I don’t want it. I don’t want them to learn about my family or about Kate or what Deucalion did to me. It is private Stiles. I didn’t give you the right to talk about them.”

Stiles looks stricken and then he places his hands on Derek’s.

“Der...I don’t believe you are...”

“I know.” Derek presses his forehead against Stiles and closes his eyes. Yes they are in public, yes there is Deucalion almost breathing down his neck and sending waves of hate and disgust through the partial bond, but he has to make Stiles understand. “I know you don’t believe in what you are saying, that I am weak. I know where you are coming from. I know you are desperate and I would probably have done the same thing if I were you.”

He pulls back and caresses Stiles’ cheeks with his thumbs.

“But this is me. With a declaration. And I am not weak. I don’t want to be weak. And I can handle it. And whatever you have been saying out loud, I have been trying to say, through my action. And just hope it is enough, that somebody understands.”

“Derek,” Derek hates the way Stiles’ voice break and his face crumples.

“I love you.” Derek says, the words falling out of his lips like he has been saying it forever. “And I have known happiness with you. It is enough for me.”

“It is not enough for me!” Stiles says brokenly. “I will not say it back to you for _you_ are going to come back to me.”

“Stiles,” Derek tries to pull back further, but Stiles clings to his hands and doesn’t let go.

“You are not going to die out here today Derek and yes you are right and I am so very wrong about you. Yet again. You are strong. I have always known how strong you are. You are going to get through this and you are coming back to me. To us.”

“Stiles...I...” Derek is at a loss as to what to say.

“Just tell me you will come back to me.”

Derek looks, really looks at Stiles, memorising every details of his face, every shades of his pupils, the flare of his nostrils, the bow on his lips, the scent of his body, the warmth of his fingers and he nods.

“I promise, I will come back to you.”

Gerard Argent clears his throat obnoxiously and Derek jumps away from Stiles. When has he moved so close to them?

“I think that is enough melodrama for one day, don’t you think?” Then he gestures at the guards to take Stiles away, which they did with Stiles kicking and screaming all the way. Their fingers touch till the very last moment, until they are pried away.

Derek cannot look at Stiles anymore and he turns towards Malia.

“Go Malia.” He urges. He doesn’t want the RWCB anywhere near the girl, even never will be kind of too soon.

Malia plants her feet on the ground, shoulder-length apart, crosses her arms and shakes her head, with a mulish expression on her face.

“Malia please.” Derek looks over her shoulder and sees two guards approaching them.

“No.” She says, without hesitation. “Pack.”

The guards stop in their tracks.

“Oh in that case.” Gerard Argent gestures the guards to stand down.

Derek is gaping at Malia.

“You can’t...she is not...I am not...”

“Oh she can and she just did.” Kali smirks at Derek, leering at the Coyote. “And I am calling dibs on her.”

“What?” Derek wheels round and snarls at her. “She is not a part of my pack and you keep your filthy hands to yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, no.” It is Jennifer this time who moves forward and stands beside Gerard and Derek almost fails to recognise her. Derek wishes he was a better man and felt sorry for the mangled atrocity that is her face now.

Well, he doesn’t.

“As the emissary of Deucalion,” and that explains the magical healing (for in no way an ordinary human will heal that quickly from the claw wounds, even taking into account the ugly scars), “I declare that I approve of your pack-mate fighting along with yours.”

She flashes a terrible smile at Derek.

“For we have just decided to fight you as a pack, since you too seem to have one.”

“No, I don’t have a pack you idiot.” Derek yells at her. “Go back Malia. I am not an alpha, _you_ are one. I am just an omega.”

Malia scans his face without emotion.

“Pack.” She says simply without moving a muscle.

Derek lets out a frustrated growl.

“Me too,” Derek swings his head only to see Erica somehow finally dislodging Boyd’s iron hold on her and stalking forward to stand beside Malia – with a proud smirk on her face.

“Pack.” She says.

"Go girl." Stiles shouts at her and she throws him a smirk over her shoulder.

“This is not happening.” Derek tips his head upward and when he looks at Erica again, Boyd is standing beside her.

“I can’t live without her.” He shrugs like it is as simple as that.

“Are you revoking the pack bond with the Stilinski-McCall pack then?” Gerard Argent asks.

Boyd throws an apologetic glace towards the duo who are looking far too gleeful to be losing a pack member.

“Yes.” He says.

“Ok, so...” Gerard starts only to be interrupted again.

“Wait, we are coming on board too.” Liam and Mason are bounding up to them, standing on both sides of Derek.

“Liam,” Derek looks at the blond teen and then to the other dark one, “Mason...”

“Sir, yes, sir...” the latter mock salutes him.

“It is not a fucking game, you realise that?” He is sure his scowl would have sent the two ducking out of the room under the normal circumstances.

“Yes.” They shuffle their feet, looking away from Derek’s eyes, but they stay right where they are.

Derek shakes his head in exasperation.

“I can’t...I don’t accept them. I am not an alpha.”

“It doesn’t work that way Derek.” Lydia walks forward to stand beside Jennifer. “They have already formed a bond. I can sense it. I am sure you can too if you try.”

Derek indeed does for he feels each one of them in his bones and as they stand behind him as one, willing to fight for him, a sense of triumph rolls over him, a feeling he has known before when there has been a particularly rough day and he comes home to his room-mates and they fool around in the kitchen or fights for the remote on the couch. There is a sense of contentment like a thick blanket on a winter night, of inevitability like something meant to be.

But he doesn’t want to get people killed.

“I am not an alpha.” He repeats like a broken record.

“Maybe you are.” Lydia says. Looking from him to the _pack_ gathered behind him. “Maybe you are the alpha of your own pack.”

“And that is the reason why you refused to join ours.” Scott chimes from his place. “You already are an alpha in your own rights.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Deucalion scoffs.

“No, it is true.” Lydia smirks at him. “There are records of am omega becoming an alpha, forming a pack, fighting right alongside the alphas and if these have never been recorded properly, it only shows how the alpha-centric society has always tried to achieve hegemony where omegas will always be treated as a second-class citizen.”

“So you are trying to make some political statement with all these?”Deucalion sneers. “You think your weak-kneed omega can lead a bunch of rag-tag teens and defeat _me_?”

Derek turns toward Deucalion slowly.

“I am...” he looks down at his feet and then looks behind, his glance ghosting over each of his friend’s face which looks back at him with defiance and utter, single-minded devotion, and then he stares at Deucalion.

“We are...” he amends, holding Deucalion’s eyes, which he is sure are not as unseeing as he pretends them to be, “trying to make a statement. Whether it is political or not is up to you, but a statement nonetheless.”

“Well, well, well.” Deucalion smiles. “So you are not after all a helpless little omega then.”

Derek moves without realising it and he stands right in front of Deucalion, almost breaching his personal space.

“No, I am not.” He smiles right back.

“Well sweetheart,” Deucalion inhales sharply and reaches out, tracing a finger down Derek’s cheekbone, “we will keep it as painless as possible, because I kind of liked you.”

Derek doesn’t step back or flinch away.

“Call me sweetheart again,” he says in a low tone, “and I will tear you a new one.”

Deucalion throws back his head and laughs.

“And so it begins...”

His lunge towards Mason is sudden and unexpected, as is Kali leaping at Malia. The surprised twin screams of pain behind him distracts Derek just enough that he doesn’t even see Enis’ claws until they are plunged into his shoulder, deep enough that his knees buckle under him.

Derek sees his body folding in half and his knees crashing on the hard ground, he feels the killkillkill and tearthemapartuntilthereisnothingleft from some obscure corner in his mind, the part that is decidedly not his and he doesn’t want it.

He hears Liam howling and charging towards the twins, Aiden and Ethan who are wolfing out, merging their bodies into a grotesque form of Siamese twins until they are one huge hulk and roaring at the smaller teen.

Despair wells up in him how the fight is over even before it has started, because who is he fooling, he is no alpha! He cannot even fight a single person let alone lead others in a battle.

He is going to lead everybody right to their death!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the cliffhanger. I ran out of time and I really didn't want to rush it. I promise to update real soon. Thanks for putting up with me and as always please leave comments.


	23. Chapter 23

Derek is rushing from room to room, searching frantically – finding only emptiness everywhere and he is flummoxed. It is not meant to be this empty, the walls are not meant to be bare without a trace of colour or the windows not fluttering with lacy curtains. There should be furniture – a wine-stained rug on the floor and a sofa in the corner and framed photographs on the mantelpiece, dog-eared books on the rack, throw pillows on the couch and a coffee table with a chipped corner – there is nothing, no trace of there ever being any furniture or anybody at all living here at any point of time.

_Get up Derek._

“I don’t want to.”

_Get up right now..._

The rooms dissolve into a field and Derek is flat out running, from this house which is not his house anymore, which is just a mockery of it.

_It is now or never Derek!_

Derek is chasing a wolf, huge and magnificent with sunlight slipping off its sleek coat. The wolf smells home and safe and Derek wants to catch up with her and hug her close and bury his fingers into the dense scruff around her neck.

The wolf looks back and grins at him.

 _Come on kiddo_ – she says. _Come on, you can do it._

“I don’t want to mom,” Derek sobs, falling to his knees. “I cannot go on without you anymore.”

“My silly baby.” She rises up as a human, wrapping a shawl around her as she rises and cups his chin. “You will not have your mom around all the time. What will you do then?”

...

“Derek, I am not kidding...just get up you asshole...”

All his senses slam into him leaving him gasping for breath, but more in relief than in pain for Enis’ claws are not embedded into his shoulders anymore and the deep wounds are stitching back, slowly.

“Are you done mopping the floor?” A painfully familiar voice snarls above him. “I can use some help up here.”

Derek blinks and looks up.

Cora blocks another blow from Enis, but just barely. Derek gapes open-mouthed at his little sister, half of Enis' size attacking the large alpha with ruthless efficiency.

“Cora?” Derek shakes his head to clear it in case he is hallucinating.

“No, it’s an alien who abducted my body.” Cora glares at him. “Now get the hell...”

Derek tackles her at the same time Enis is about to deliver a blow that would probably have maimed her for good, using her distraction.

“...up.” She finishes from below him.

Derek rocks back for he feels rather than sees the next attack from Enis and he ends up drawing a neat half-circle with his right leg at the same time, cutting Enis off at the shin. When the bulky alpha hits the ground, the only thing his face conveys is a surprise.

Kali roars at Derek, trying to lunge, only to be held back by Malia and Kali turns on her again, furious. Malia is bleeding freely from the nose and Kali is simply pummelling into her, channeling her frustration and anger on the coyote whose eyes are intermittently flashing red and natural brown.

“Go help Malia...” Derek barks towards his sister and is slashing into Enis before he can get up and attack again.

He is still into a sort of stupor and he hardly feels his throat which Enis has grabbed with clawed hands. It becomes a battle of endurance as Derek cuts through his intestines and Enis chokes him with a death grip. Derek summons the image of Paige, laughing at him with her eyes, impossibly alive and then cold and dead in a foreign city and he wills himself to stay conscious. The rate at which Enis is bleeding, he would have been dead and gone a long time ago if he were an ordinary human. But Enis is still holding out, depriving him of precious oxygen. Any time now...and impossibly the choke-hold on his throat begins to loosen up! Blood gurgles out of Enis’ mouth now going slacker every moment and Derek leans forward, digging into his flesh deeper and deeper until he feels organs squelching and Enis’ eyes are going dim.

“Derek...”

Erica’s scream brings him back from the haze and he is aware of the pain again, the still-healing deep gashes on his shoulder, the burn in his throat, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth – but he is alive and that is all that matters.

"I am OK." Derek yells back jerking himself out of Enis’ hold without much effort, letting his body hit the ground again with a dull thud. 

Derek focuses on his surrounding mayhem. Malia and Cora are grappling with Kali, and though Kali is moving with the grace of a practised killer the two girls are not backing down. Erica and Liam are taking on a huge monster of an alpha, no, make that two alphas, joined together, and they are somehow, still not getting slaughtered. They are, in fact holding on.

Derek allows himself to feel something pretty akin to hope this time. Maybe, just maybe they can pull this off?

Erica and Liam are absolutely vicious as they are attacking the twins. Probably seeing Derek fighting Enis with no-holds-barred has sparred something in them, but the smaller betas are actually giving the twins trouble and bloody as they may be, they are not dead. Far from it actually.

 Derek would have applauded when Erica turns her head towards him and frantically points towards Mason.

A sharp slap on his face, a claw to the side, a caress on the cheek as Mason is on his knees and gasping for breath, a kick to the side...Deucalion is playing with the young boy as a cat plays with the mouse or as Kate used to play with him. Derek’s jaws tightened.

He vaults forward, feeling a surge of something in his bloodstream as he moves. The collective consciousness of a pack – telling him to get over himself and lead from the front, _be_ the person they all need Derek to be. Derek stands over a hunched down Mason and puts his fists up.

“Why don’t you take on somebody closer to your own size?” he asks softly.

"Derek, my favourite omega," Deucalion addresses him pleasantly. Derek throws a jab-jab-cross experimentally and Deucalion ducks, no doubt using all his senses to the fullest extent to feel Derek's punches coming at him.

"You want to box?" Deucalion smirks. "Let us box."

Derek widens his stance and dodges the punch Deucalion suddenly throws at him. He veers towards left, leading the alpha away from Mason. They dance around each other, Deucalion matching him step for step unerringly and his sightless eyes are fixed on to Derek's. 

Is he really blind, Derek wonders, but he doesn't let the thought unnerve him. 

 _Keep up that toe in perfect alignment with your heel_ , a voice in his head whispers, _relax your shoulders, fists up and chin down...don’t expose your stomach...sideways, always sideways...never expose your torso to your opponent..._

Derek closes in, moving on the balls of his feet.

“Come on now,” Derek teases. “You are not afraid of a little omega now. Are you?”

Deucalion is no longer smirking. Good. He should know now Derek is not fooling around anymore. That this is not a game where Deucalion holds all the strings like an expert puppeteer. He needs to know it is beyond his control now.

Deucalion punches him with a snarl and this time it connects even though Derek leans right to avoid it. Pain blooms in his left ear and Derek is sure his eardrum has burst open and blood is oozing out of it.

 _Don’t break the eye contact no matter what_...the voice goes on... _not even when you are hit, it is OK to be hit a few times_... _you are strong and you can take it_...

“Come on Derek...” Stiles whispers quietly and though one of his ear is out of commission, Derek can hear it like Stiles is whispering right into his ear.

 _Bend your knees Der-der_... _don’t forget to bend your knees_...

It hits Derek even harder than the punch to his ear. Because Eric, his big alpha brother who never lived past twenty-two, was there for him, never asking why Derek was suddenly interested in boxing and was spending a ridiculous amount of time punching a bag in their basement. It was after the third time Derek got groped openly in a public place and he was only twelve. He didn't tell anyone, but they let him know...his family...with a gentle tousling of his hair when he was doing homework or just a brush on his knees when he sits next to them, with the warm but worried glances when he starts to speak, but stops suddenly and drifts off in the middle. They never questioned what was wrong with him, but they were just there. 

Derek gasps inwardly. In an effort to protect his heart, has he built a wall so high that it has blocked all the good memories too? Probably he did. Why else would it take him such a long time to recognise Eric’s voice?

“Come on now...focus...” it is like Stiles can feel Derek is inwardly freaking out. He is speaking quietly, under the breath. With so many werewolves around it is a wasted effort. Still, it somehow makes Derek warm from the inside. The fact he is taking a step back to let Derek fight his battle even though the sight is probably killing him, going against all his instincts. He must be dying inside, seeing Derek’s blood spilled and Derek can hear every spike in his heartbeat, the pungent scent of his fear...but still he is not rushing in the middle of the battlefield to try to _rescue_ Derek for Derek doesn’t want it.

And Derek marvels at his strength, at how Stiles is able to do it without going out of his mind. Derek loves him for it. Loves Stiles with all his heart for being who he is and he wishes he could have shown Stiles when there was time. There is still time. All Derek needs to do is to get out of here alive.

It is when one of Derek’s hits connects with Deucalion’s ribs that the first cheering breaks out.

Suddenly it all seems surreal. When has it happened that Derek has so many people on his side? He has built himself a cocoon and still never felt safe. He has tried to keep people at arm’s length only to have others snipping away a little bit of his defense without him realising it.

He must believe he can win this. He must learn to hope again, if not for himself, he needs to do it at least for Stiles and for the people taking blow after blow for him and still fighting back.

Deucalion is trying to make him back up and he is frowning like he cannot figure Derek out. He is still being able to hit Derek quite frequently, but Derek is not going down. It seems to baffle him, probably because Derek’s wounds are knitting together almost faster than he is getting hurt. His ear is almost healed by now.

“Not your average little omega anymore.” Derek grins at Deucalion with bloodied teeth right after an uppercut has him momentarily reeling, feeling slightly maniacal. Well, Derek is not giving up this time.

Deucalion narrows his eyes and then Derek feels it, something prodding deep into his mind, slimy, like a tentacle, trying to read into him.

Derek smirks, letting his mind open wide. Deucalion’s eyes widen before confusion flashes through Derek’s mind. Confusion and a little bit of uncertainty.

Well, two can play the game!

It is because Derek is now reading Deucalion like an open book that he feels the shift in his mood and how his frustration and his fury is rising each time Derek is refusing to go down even after taking blow after blow. He keeps on expecting Derek to run out of stamina. Surely, he cannot keep up with an alpha; surely, he is about to run out of steam and surrender. But then Derek turns around and his left hook connects with Deucalion’s jaw, making him rear back at the strength behind it, yet again. Derek feels the violent hatred and how the air around the alpha changes into something sinister and ducks out of the way as long claws slash at him.

“Fuck...” Scott and Stiles exclaim in unison as the crowd gasps with horror because a transformed Deucalion is nothing like they have ever seen.

His skin has turned an unnatural bluish grey and his face is more grotesque than the creature of Derek’s worst nightmares. It reminds him of his childhood stories, the ones that had him and his young siblings ducking under the covers and squeeze their eyes shut lest he got them and eat them alive...

“Demon wolf?” Stiles screeches. “He is the goddamn demon wolf.”

Derek has an insane urge to snort at Stiles for stating the obvious if he is not busy trying to...well not slashed into half by claws that are as long as daggers. The large creature springs on him and Derek let all thoughts of technique go, right out of the window, for the very idea to fight with a creature like this is ridiculous. The demon wolf charges at him again and Derek sprouts claws and fangs, that look woefully small compared to that of the monster coming at him with a crazed look. One peek into his mind through the bond and Derek knows the creature is exactly as murderous as he looks.

With the corner of his eyes Derek can see Malia and Cora pinning Kali down on the ground and how Aiden and Ethan have been forced to pry themselves apart and now going at Liam and Erica one on one.

They are alive...up to now...against all odds. They are alive and seriously kicking some asses and Derek cannot let them down now. He is running on adrenaline high and on his friends counting on him and the crowd around him cheering for him and it feels it is bigger than him and his friends. That somewhere, someone, in this harsh world, somebody Derek is yet to meet, is waiting for him to win and that this win somehow _matters_. Somehow everything in his life has prepared him for this exact moment, this battle which is now balanced on the edge of a knife – that no matter what, it is going to bring a change.

Derek fights. This is his land damn it and this is his territory! He is not going be put down like a dog at the hands of the infernal beast trying to rip him apart. He calls for strength from everything he ever held true and sacred in his life. He calls for strength from his family.

He is dimly aware that he is pinned to the ground and that his flesh is so torn that his organs are showing in places. Still, he struggles against the hold which is much stronger and much more vicious than that of Enis. The demon wolf is snarling into his face, frothing at the mouth above him, his fangs only inches from his throat and the only thing between the deadly teeth and his vulnerable throat is his left arm which is already so damaged that the white bones are showing. Derek has plunged the claws of his right arm into the side of the beast, but it only seems to enrage him further.

It is time!

Derek lets his eyes drift close for the first time since the fight begins in the earnest. He tilts his head, baring his throat a little, letting the smug satisfaction wafting off Deaucalion. He lets Deucalion savour the moment, thinking he is going to submit finally after all this time. The pressure is eased a tiny bit and Derek makes his move.

He feels it rippling through him, starting from his heart that changes rhythm all of a sudden and then his organs and then the bones and muscles and sinews. He can feel the demon-wolf’s confusion again as there is suddenly a massive black wolf instead of a man who promptly sinks its fangs into his shoulder. Deucalion jumps up with a startled yell, freeing the wolf who pounces on him fiercely. Deucalion’s hands come up, belatedly trying to protect his throat, but it is too late. Then with a fierce growl the wolf clamps its powerful jaws around Deucalion’s throat. He flails around helplessly as the deadly fangs cut through the flesh and soft tissues until the wolf places a huge paw on one of his shoulders easily pinning him to the ground, making him completely immobile in terror.

Deucalion whimpers if the choked sound he makes can be called a whimper.

“Derek, stop,” somebody is yelling at the wolf from a distance. “Don’t let him make you a murderer.”

Blood gurgles out of Deucalion’s mouth along with some sort of wordless moan, but the wolf doesn’t slacken his hold.

“Derek, he is tapping out.” Another voice joins the first. “Stop Derek, you are better than this.”

The wolf wants to snarl at the voices even though they are friendly. The voices are telling him not to kill the being under his paws, that he is somehow to show mercy. This being who has tortured him, made him lesser of a human being andtried to take everything from him. This being tried to kill his mate! His mate who is begging right now to spare this person, but the wolf doesn’t understand how he can do so.

He keeps on seeing the surprised look on Stiles’ face when he crumpled to the ground, with the tiny hole in his chest that smoked slightly. He could feel the mating bite forced on him. Isaac, Erica, Cora, hurt only because they were unwitting pawns in his sick games... and they are still hurting, bleeding from gashing wounds...

A red haze covers the wolf’s vision and the rest is a blur for the only thing he remembers is the taste of the blood in his mouth and it feels right. He savours  it. Each flash of fear in the eyes of the so-called alpha pack seems like a victory. It is retribution and the wolf won’t stop until every last one of them is dead. He can’t stop. Not now!

 _Derek, Derek, Derek, Derekderekderekderekderekderekderek_...

The wolf tilts his head slightly and examines his surroundings. His pack is there, the only ones remain standing on the battlefield now. He cannot make out their expression for humans are complicated. It is not like a wolf which has a one-track mind.

Kill-maim-protect-provide-love.

The wolf stands up and looks over at his mate, ignoring the crowd going wild for him. The wolf doesn’t know why it makes him uneasy.

Stiles gives him a last, inscrutable look before turning back and pushing his way through the crowd.

The wolf whines in his throat and tries to chase his mate, but is thwarted by one look from Scott. The gentle alpha just shakes his head at him with a look that is remarkably close to disappointment, purses his lips and disappears after Stiles.

The wolf doesn’t understand and even when his pack rushes towards him, enveloping him in hugs, crying into his fur, exclaiming how everything is OK now and that it is over, the wolf feels unsettled.

Something has gone terribly wrong somewhere and for his life he doesn’t know what.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beautiful readers,
> 
> I wanted to share with you my excitement over the fact that finally, I got my original fantasy novel published. I am so sorry that it took me so long. Now, I am hoping to finish this fic soon and take up the other unfinished works while working on a sequel to my original book. Please visit my 
> 
>  
> 
> [website](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)
> 
>    
> for more information. It will mean the world to me if you show me the same love and support as you did with my fanfics :)

_From:_

_Jørgen Lange_

_The General Secretary_

_United Front of Shape-shifters_

 

 

_Dear Mr. Hale,_

_It is our pleasure to invite you to the upcoming Annual General Meeting of UFS to be held at Sheraton Miyako, Tokyo on 3 rd November._

_Let us take this opportunity to let you know how you are an inspiration to many people across the world whoever suffered from the pre-conceived notions of the society about them, something we, the members of the UFS, have no qualms to admit being guilty of as well, and how you becoming the alpha of your own pack now stands as a glowing testimony to the oft-debated fact that the omegas are in fact capable of taking leadership roles as much as the alphas or betas rising to become alphas._

_We would also like to extend an apology to you and your current pack with regards to the inaction of the Council when your family was murdered, a fact that has recently come to light in view of the testimony of and the new evidence brought forth by Chris and Allison Argent, both of whom have been quite outspoken about your courage, resilience and strength of character in the face of impossible odds. Dr. Alan Deaton, a very respectable member of the community and a specialist in shifter physiology has also come forward with damning evidence of the maltreatment meted out to you by a certain alpha and his pack. It is thanks to you that the Attitude Adjustment and Correction Facility of Beacon County has come under scrutiny and we are happy to inform you that it has been closed down indefinitely. The patients have been moved to a facility in LA where the majority of the staff are shifters and the facility has an open-door policy for the family and packmates of the patients._

_Given the fact that you have caused a silent revolution across the globe which has not only bolstered the omega-rights movement, but has made us sit up and notice the glaring mistakes we had been committing for the last few decades (and would have been continuing to do so if you did not have the courage to challenge an alpha publicly and defeat him), we would be honoured to have you amongst us as a guest speaker._

_Our representatives at Beacon Hills will get in touch with you as soon as you express your consent over the phone or email or a letter to work out the details of your itinerary. It goes without saying that all members of your pack are invited as well._

_Looking forward to meeting you in person._

 

_Yours sincerely,_

_Jørgen Lange_

...

 

“Will you stop re-reading the damn thing already and decide if you are going or not?”

Erica’s voice makes Derek jump and he whirls round to glare at the two females sneaking up on him.

“I think he is trying to memorise it.” Cora comments blandly.

“Methinks he loves them sucking up to him.”

“Or he is parsing every word in his head, trying to find some hidden insult.”

“Has he always been this paranoid?”

“ _He_ is right here.” Derek grumbles under his breath.

“Will you go?” Cora asks him in her straightforward way. “I always wanted to visit Japan. I heard the cherry trees look awesome in November.”

Derek still does a double-take each time she saunters into his view because it is yet to sink in that Cora is actually living with him. Voluntarily. He still thinks he imagined the part when she had sobbed into his neck the night he woke up human, clinging to him like a lifeline, or when she has altered between apologizing to him and smacking him over the head, ordering him never to scare her like that.

Derek had stayed as a wolf for nearly a week before remembering how to be a human again.

All his friends had sighed in relief at the sight and ignoring his grumbled protests have flocked into his bed and slept curled up around him: Isaac, Erica, Cora, Malia, Liam, Mason and finally Boyd, who just shrugged and said he was a package deal along with Erica. Erica had narrowed his eyes at Derek, daring him to throw her beau out and Derek indeed didn’t dare. Also, he kind of liked Boyd.

Then, he was compelled to sell his apartment and buy a rather big, two-storey house to accommodate all of them, because they refused to leave him the hell alone (what the fuck!!!).

This at least made sure his business has been soaring because the pack butted in, rolling their eyes in unison each time Derek groused he was capable of handling it all on his own. Boyd has assigned himself to the role of the unofficial manager. Liam is into delivery right alongside Mason and though they haven’t moved in officially (what with them being under-age and having parents who would like them to spend at least three nights in a week at home) they are in the apartment often enough to make them permanent fixtures. Erica and Isaac also pitch in with a particularly large order, to the point they are considering dropping their regular jobs as the security to the museum altogether and invest into Derek’s business.

Malia is...well, she is learning, or re-learning human language, which doesn’t stop her from receiving a phone call and growl into it. Derek is trying to admit her to a school unsuccessfully for a few weeks now. She still has attachment issues and treats Derek as her territory, but she is definitely improving. At least, she is not chewing the corners of the throw-pillows anymore or snarling at every stranger trying to strike up a conversation with Derek when they visit the farmers’ market together every Sunday (Derek is trying to re-introduce her to humanity and for some reason he seems to think the farmers’ market is the best place to convince her the world is not out to get her at every turn and there are things that are still good and worth enjoying.)

Derek wants to absolutely draw the line when Lydia shows up with an extensive ten-years plan to expand his business beyond Beacon Hills and to set up a food chain spanning the entire continent.

“World dominance Derek.” She has gesticulated wildly while Derek mulishly crossed his arms and stated he had no intention to become a food-chain billionaire. “You should aim for all or nothing.”

“Why would you help me?” Derek squints at her suspiciously. “I am not...well, you are not...I mean...”

He trails off, uncertain.

“Go ahead and finish the sentence, I dare you.” Lydia has glowered at him.

God, he is surrounded by terrifying females and he cannot even complain because he loves each of them to death!

Lydia has left the apartment only after extracting a promise from Derek to let her open a website for his business at the very least and let her oversee the public relations.

Derek still feels somewhat off-kilter when random people greet him in the farmers’ market, or point towards him and whisper or straight up approach him and tell him how he is a fucking hero with Malia silently baring her fangs beside him.

Things like that un-nerves him, like this letter.

“I don’t know.” Derek answers Cora truthfully. “I am not sure that I...”

“If you tell one more time how you don’t deserve it I am going to smash your skull in.” Cora threatens. “I cannot take this angsting anymore.”

“But I really don’t.” Derek looks at his feet. “I just did what I could to survive and to save my friends. I never wanted to create an example or God forbid to _be a hero_.” He air-quoted the last part with a disgusted look on his face.

“But you _are_ and you better deal with it rather than moping around,” Erica says.

“I am not a hero.” Derek looks up and meets her eyes. “You were there. You saw what I did. That is not something a _hero_ would ever do.”

Cora exchanges a worried glance with Erica.

“Derek,” Erica starts in a gentler tone. “You cannot be blamed for what happened. You were pushed into a corner time and again and God knows everyone has a breaking point. You were not yourself when you killed Deucalion.”

“That is it,” Derek says fiercely. “I might not be myself at that time, but even now I don’t feel any remorse. While I am not exactly gloating over how I murdered somebody in cold blood, but I don’t feel anything other than extreme relief that he is dead.”

Cora walks forward and places a hand on his arm. The tender gesture is at odds with the scowl on her face.

“Why are you so conflicted then? Why are you slowly killing yourself and...no don’t even try to deny it.” Cora glares. “If you know you were not wrong, why are you punishing yourself so?”

Because it has been two months and Stiles hasn’t tried to talk to him.

“Oh Derek,” Cora hugs him, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You need to forgive yourself first and understand there is nothing to forgive in the first place. Don’t let others forgive you for that is not the right sentiment. There is nothing to forgive. You hear me. _Nothing_. We would have been slaughtered on that field if not because of you. We all drew our strength from you. And what you did was a culmination of everything that was first done upon you. If Stiles doesn’t understand it, he can go fuck himself.”

Derek jolts at the name, but Cora only holds him tighter. Derek hugs his little sister back, inhaling her scent to his heart’s content.

“When did you ever get this wise?” He mumbles into her hair and feels her smiling against his shoulder.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)

Derek runs into the sheriff in the farmer’s market next day. The man is onto him before he can place the distinct smell of gunpowder combined with an undertone of deep melancholy. But the corners of his eyes are crinkled in a smile and he radiates warmth, like a blanket left too long in the sun.

“How are you doing, son?” Derek doesn’t miss the aborted movement that the sheriff makes, looking for all the world like he wants to pat him on the back, but doesn’t know if his touch will be welcomed.

“I am...Malia, what the hell?” Derek stares at the girl as she straight up lunges and hugs the older man out of the blue and burrows her nose into his neck. The sheriff hugs her back awkwardly, patting her on the back, meeting Derek’s eyes in a wide-eyed stare over her shoulder.

“Smells good,” Malia mumbles, with her face still squished against the sheriff’s shirt. “Like dad.”

Derek stills.

“What?”

The sheriff carefully extricates himself from the girl. “Can you tell me his name? Your dad?”

“I...” Malia trails off, uncertain and looks back at Derek. “I...don’t remember.”

“It’s OK kiddo.” The sheriff pats her arm affectionately. “Maybe you can remember something else?”

“You smell like dad,” she repeats.

“OK,” the sheriff makes eye-contact with Derek again, only this time his face is scrunched up in determination rather than confusion. “We are going to find your dad.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep.” Derek tries and fails to keep the harshness out of his voice. He tips his head back, closing his eyes. “I am sorry,” he says softly.

“No, you have every right to be skeptical.” The sheriff says and Derek looks at him, surprised. “Especially after the way I spectacularly failed you both the times you needed me the most. Or probably three times or even more.” Regret laces his tone and Derek needs to stop this right now. Because whoever Derek has ever blamed for his misfortunes, the sheriff would never be a part of that list.

“I am sorry,” Derek repeats for emphasis. “I didn’t mean it. I just...” he gestures towards Malia helplessly who is still trying to reach over and sniff the sheriff. “She is doing better nowadays,” as if that explains everything.

And then Malia absolutely has to choose the moment to snarl at an unfortunate cat that is passing by, minding its own business, and tries to take off into a flat run.

“Well, marginally.” Derek amends as he wraps an arm around Malia’s waist as she thrashes against his hold. “Malia, no. What did I tell you about chasing random animals down the road?”

“They are not food.” Malia grouses. “But I like cats.”

The sheriff laughs. “Well, if you are hungry, I would suggest the diner across the road. The waffles are to die for. Certainly beats cats. Who will deal with all the fur?” He winks at Malia conspirationally. Malia beams back at him and Derek knows she is completely won over.

“Waffles,” she chirps happily.

Derek sighs. He is the most hopeless pushover that ever existed in the entire universe.

“Waffles.” He agrees, but the immediate joy in Malia’a face is totally worth it. Derek cannot help smiling back.

“Let it be my treat,” the sheriff says and before Derek can protest, he has turned his back on them and Malia is bouncing after him.

Derek suppresses the urge to sigh again and follows the sheriff down the road because clearly, he is a glutton for punishment. The road trip across the country with a certain somebody who shares the same DNA as the sheriff is still fresh in his memory and it’s like an open, festering wound, the way he misses that certain somebody. Every. Damn. Day. But he cannot say it in so many words and so he sits down across Stiles’ father and lets him order three plates of waffles smothered with whipped cream and chocolate sauce (‘because chocolate heals everything’, he says to Malia, who seems to be ready to eat out of his hands by now) and lets himself be dragged into casual conversation.

“I have been invited by UFS to attend their general meeting,” Derek finds himself blurting out. “They want me to give a speech.”

“Isn’t it scheduled to take place in Tokyo this year?” The sheriff frowns.

“I am not in the yellow zone anymore,” Derek informs with his eyes fixed on his plate, otherwise, he is afraid he may be glowering at the older man. “I can fly in aeroplanes.”

“That’s not what I meant, Derek.” The sheriff sounds so genuinely horrified that Derek looks up to see that look on his face again. The one that means he is stomping down on the urge to reach out and pat Derek on the hand or give him a hug. “Of course you are not in the yellow zone. You should have never been there in the first place.”

He looks down and away. That was...that...Derek doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know how not to break inside at the small words and gestures that cut him deeper than a knife, which should be strange because he endured it with gritted teeth when people treated him obnoxiously and when he comes across a little bit of kindness he feels brittle like spun sugar.

“So, are you going?” The sheriff asks casually, digging into his waffles.

“I...” Derek blinks rapidly to stave off the heat pooling behind his eyes, “I don’t know. They want me to go. My pack. I don’t understand why people think I can just...I can’t forget what they did to me or how they made me feel, all alone and so very helpless.”

The sheriff purses his lips. “Maybe that is why you should go. Maybe it is time to tell them how they have fucked up while looking them in the eye.”

“You think I should go?” Derek clutches at it like a lifeline. It’s been a long time he has anybody to turn to for advice when he is well and truly stuck. It’s been a long time since he _wanted_ to turn to anybody for advice.

Fuck that cosy blanket in the sun, but now Derek _wants_ to. He knows why Malia is won over easy and he is not that far behind.

“You should do what your heart tells you to do, son.” The sheriff smiles. “And I know it is the worst sort of cliché, but trust me, your heart will know.”

“What my heart told me to do led me to blood on my hands.”

“You have blood on your hands because you have been in a war which you didn’t start and you have survived.” The sheriff retorts, looking every inch the stern lawman he is. “You are a survivor, Derek. Let nobody convince you otherwise.”

Derek is speechless for a moment at that. When everybody has been branding him a hero, he feels supremely uncomfortable, but to be called a survivor? He can relate to that. He has survived, despite all odds.

“Just think about it, Derek. Tokyo is beautiful in November.”

“Cora says the same thing,” he says, the bare ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“Maybe you should listen to her,” the sheriff chuckles. “And now who wants a banana split?”

During the next couple of hours during which Derek visits the florists and carries a bunch of daisies for Peter at his little cell in the Eichen House and keeps up a one-sided conversation with his unresponsive form on the bed, Derek is still buzzing from the feeling of an understated contentment, thrumming just under his skin. But it evaporates the moment he steps out of the car because his smell hits him like a freight train.

At least, this time it doesn’t take him by surprise that Stiles Stilinski is sitting on the front porch steps of his house, pinning him with his honey-brown eyes.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)

Derek really doesn’t know what to make of Theo. At first sight, he appeared harmless. Being a human in a house of wolves, it is not like he will even dare to try anything funny. Derek has made sure of that the moment he has opened the door and smiled at Theo with way too many teeth in greeting and has been hovering silently while he grills Malia about what she can remember about her past life, her pre-coyote life. The way Theo throws a nervous glance or two towards him from time to time, Derek is sure he has been able to get the message across. He or Cora, casually examining her razor sharp claws while leaning against the doorjamb. Well, it _is_ probably Cora. Derek has tried to send her away, but, well, who is he kidding. When Cora wants to stay, she will stay, Derek’s glare notwithstanding.

“So, you can remember your dad’s scent, but you cannot remember how he looks?” Theo raises an eyebrow at Malia, who regards him balefully. “Well, that is kind of pathetic.”

Derek can feel Cora bristling from Theo’s condescending tone even though his back is turned on her. Yes, Theo seems all earnest eyes and kind words when he starts and then he does a complete one-eighty degree like this. If Stiles has not made him promise he will give Theo a chance, Derek would probably have thrown him physically out of their house.

“Come on Malia. You can do better than this.” Theo goes on blithely, seemingly oblivious to Derek’s darkening mood. “Or were they right at AACF. That you really are a dumb animal.”

Malia growls low in her throat. Her control is much better now and she usually talks instead of growling and grunting, but today she is regressing in the face of Theo’s barbs.

“Derek.”

“Not now, Erica.” Derek hisses.

“But he is...”

“You don’t have to stay here and witness this.” Derek turns to Erica and Cora and quirks a brow, playing his last card. “Or do you think I am incapable of handling a human if the necessity arises?”

From their expression, Derek knows it’s below the belt, but at least it makes Erica huff out a breath and Cora to roll her eyes and leave the room. He turns his attention to Malia again who seems just one shove away from first-degree murder.

“So, how did you turn, Malia? Has the animal always been to the forefront, driving the human?”

“I can show you the animal,” Malia growls and she is definitely on the verge of sprouting her fangs. “If you come a little closer.”

This – after hours and hours of teaching her control – Derek passes a hand over his face and tries to remember how he has got stuck in this situation in the first place.

 

_“Dad just told me Malia may have been separated from her family when she turned and that she remembers how her father smells.” Stiles stands with his hands shoved deep into pockets, shoulders hunched, but holding a steady eye-contact with Derek._

_Stiles is still Stiles, moles and upturned nose and bow lips and soft eyes and long limbs and a quickening heartbeat that matches with Derek’s own._

_“What is it to you?” In spite of himself, Derek’s tone is harsh and Stiles recoils, making Derek feel the worst kind of person in the world. Stiles has, after all, put his life in line as well as that of his entire pack to save Derek’s ass multiple times. He wants to take back his words, or at least reach out and smooth down its jagged edges. But he stands stock still, arms across his chest, feet wide apart. Like Stiles is an adversary in the long line of adversaries life has thrown at him. As if Stiles has never held him in his arms like he is more fragile than a dewdrop and wiped his tears away._

_“Well, the thing is, I got called at the station to attend a perp having a cardiac arrest. Imagine my surprise when...”_

_“Stiles.” Derek puts up one hand. “What. Is. It. To. You.”_

_He cannot listen to Stiles rambling because his voice does this funny thing to his heart. He recalls a time that seems like a distant dream, though it happened only months ago, but life is not a dream or a fairy tale. So, he cannot listen to Stiles talk, because it cuts Derek, bleeds him dry._

_“Sorry.” Stiles finally looks away, voice down a couple of notches and shoulders curled even further. “I mean, I am just...it’s not like I am taking more interest in your life than I am entitled to and I just...”_

_Derek stops him with a glare._

_“...OK, yeah, less talking and more explaining. Sorry.” He sighs heavily. “Dad kind of went on and one about how he met you and Malia at the market today and how proud he is of you that...well, Malia, sorry, I am digressing again. He told me how Malia seems to think he smells like her father and we gathered from her reaction that she must have at least one loving parent if her reaction was anything to go by. SoIsortofhiredaprivateinvestigatorforher.”_

_“You did what???” Derek is sure his eyes flash and Stiles flinches again because never before has he been subjected to this much fury from Derek and this rage is bone-deep and real, nothing like the put-upon thing Derek pretended to feel for him when he was pestering Derek before in some long-forgotten past._

_“I...” Stiles clears his throat and squares his shoulder, changing his stance, so that he stands more like the alpha that he is. “I hired a person called Theo Raeken to investigate into Malia’s background. He comes across a bit sleazy, but he is the best P.I. in the entire continent. Trust me.”_

_“Trust you?” Derek scoffs and tries his hardest to hold back his temper. “So that you can conveniently drop me like yesterday’s trash and pick me up once again when you feel like. Thanks, but no thanks.”_

_There are so many emotions flitting across Stiles’ face that Derek cannot even read it at all, but what stands above everything else is hurt._

_“You know you can trust me, Derek.” Stiles’ voice is barely above a whisper._

_This is Derek’s turn to sigh as he holds back so many unsavory things that are on the very tip of his tongue. His pack is right there peering from the upstairs window and he has promised to himself he will be a better man, for himself and for his friends._

_“Maybe in other matters.” he finally says and is inordinately proud that his voice shakes only marginally. “But I can never trust you with my heart again.”_

_Stiles’ whole body jerks and he stares and stares and stares at Derek, his jaw trembling. When the first drop of tears roll down his cheek, Derek kind of loses it right there and his entire being is poised on the tiptoe to rush to Stiles, to hold him tight against his chest and rain kisses on his eyes and never ever let a drop fall on the ground because it is plain unacceptable. It hurts. God. Damn. It hurts. It’s like he cannot breathe as more tears brim over Stiles’ eyes and run down his chin and his whole body is racking with sobs and Derek is drowning...or going insane in his head because he cannot stand this._

_Then, slowly, miraculously, gradually, Stiles pulls himself together, and it is like he is not even aware that he is still crying and that there are tear tracks glistening on his cheeks and that his voice is wobbling._

_“Fair enough,” he says. “But about Theo. Please reconsider it. I know dad will leave no stones unturned once that it has got into his head to find Malia’s parents, but Theo has means which dad, as a lawman, doesn’t have the access to.”_

_“And what will he want in exchange?” Derek doesn’t insult Stiles by asking what Stiles wants in exchange because he knows the answer. Stiles doesn’t put any price to helping people out. It’s just something he does because he cares. And when he does, he cares fiercely without holding anything back._

_“He owes me a favour.” Stiles says. When Derek continues to look at him steadily, he rolls his watery eyes and explains further. “Scott and I saved his life when a chimera was about to eat him alive.”_

_Derek knows his friends are moments away from bursting through the door because they feel it, the way his heart is breaking if there is anything left to break, because this is not Stiles coming to say sorry and grovel at his feet, but this is Stiles trying to make up for hurting him and he is going about it in the exact right way. But Derek is dying inside and can’t Stiles really see it, how he is dying inside and can’t he just forget...both of them...can’t they just forget whatever happened after that one fateful night when they made memories in that little log cabin...just forget and run away with it..._

_“Please.” Stiles pleads and no, he is not pleading to go back to what they started together in that log cabin and sealed with a promise in a prison cell in RWCB headquarter with Chris Argent looking on pityingly. Stiles is not pleading his case. He merely feels guilty about Malia whom he had completely misunderstood before._

_“I will think about it.”_

_“But th–”_

_“I said, I will think about it.”_

_Stiles nods like a bobblehead, looking down at his shoes and left._

_Perhaps this is what it feels like when one’s soul dies._

 

Derek lunges in front of Theo before Malia reaches him and he suddenly has an arm full of snarling coyote, frothing at the mouth in anger.

“Shh...calm down Malia...shhhhh...I am here...please...it’s OK...” Derek clutches the animal to his chest and soothes it, pouring all the love and affection he feels for her into his words and his touch. “It’s OK...everything is OK...Theo is just being a jerk and we will kick his ass...but we cannot lose you again, please...” he keeps a low chant until she goes limp in his hold and hides his face into the crook of his elbow, whining.

“What is the meaning of this?” Derek hisses at Theo who is pacing the length of the room as Malia falls into a fitful sleep in her furry form. “Why did you push her over the edge like that?”

Theo stops in this track and meets his gaze. “I gather that she has never shifted fully once after she was ‘rescued’ by the RWCB.” Theo air-quotes.

“No.”

“Well, she has clearly suppressed a part of her memory. It’s in human nature to do it in the face of severe trauma. I needed her to tap into her animal side which has no such inhibitions.” Theo explains.

“You think she will remember her past in the coyote form?” Derek asks skeptically.

“Well, this is one theory only.” Theo shrugs. “If not, I need to match her with the physical description of every single girl child of her age that went missing ten years ago.”

“And what if she had torn you apart when you were trying to make her connect to her ‘animal’ side.” Well, Derek is not above making air-quotations, no matter what Cora and Erica say.

“Why did you think I let you hover around and bore a hole into my skull with that glaring?”

“Don’t take it personally.” Cora chirps cheerfully from the doorway.

“It is Der’s unique way to show his love and appreciation for your fine person.” Isaac drawls, entering right behind her.

“I thought I told you guys to give us privacy,” Derek complains as his overbearing pack descends on them and starts piling up on the couch.

“That was before the little missie decided to take a furry turn.” Erica drapes a blanket over Malia’s sleeping form and drops down to the ground, leaning against Derek’s leg. “Now that Theo here has accomplished what he has been trying to accomplish, we can take over the interrogation part.”

“Will you guys always eavesdrop when I specifically tell you not to?” Derek asks exasperatedly.

“Of course.” Erica huffs on behalf of everybody. “And by the way, fuck you, Theo.”

“Any day, sweetheart.” Theo actually winks at her and Derek thinks he may have a seriously skewed sense of self-preservation.

The only reason Derek doesn’t break out into fangs and the claws is that Erica just laughs in answer and says, “Of course, as long as there is an ‘over’ after the ‘fuck you’ part.”

“You know Theo?” Derek asks.

“In the same school as Isaac and me of course. Stiles too.” Erica’s smile turns predatory. “Though Theo was too good for the likes of us, right Theo? A girl with epilepsy and a boy who was scared of his own shadow? That was the reason you asked me to the prom and stood me up to win a bet.”

“Well, what can I say, I used to be an asshole,” Theo says easily and no, Derek is not going to murder this person where he sits, saturated with his own smugness.

“You still are,” everybody jumps at Malia’s voice coming from under the blanket.

“Malia?” Derek uncovers her face, her human face but Malia burrows further into his lap and refuses to look up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she murmurs, sitting up slowly still avoiding eye-contact with Cora wrapping the blanket around her more securely and putting her arms around her, glaring at Theo.

“Wow,” Theo eyes Derek and Cora seated on Malia’s both sides, “talk about family resemblances.”

“Malia,” Derek says gently, tuning out Theo altogether. “Can you remember anything about your parents?”

“They are dead.” She whispers, trembling even as Derek wraps her blanketed body in a side-hug. “I killed them.”

It is a testimony to how much trust his pack has in one another that nobody comes up even with a loud exclamation. Instead, they just draw even closer to her if possible, as if they can leech her pain away by proximity only.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” It’s Cora this time. “Because if you don’t we will never mention it again.”

“No...I want to.” Malia closes her eyes. “I want to remember them. I...forgot. I don’t want to forget. I want to...remember how they looked like. I want to see my room. I want to cry for them...”

Cora is a human octopus on Malia’s one side and Erica rests her chin on her knees, reaching up to brush the hair from her eyes. “It’s ok.” She says. “We are listening.”

Malia bites her lips. “It was full moon. I used to feel a tug on the full-moon nights, in my chest, but I didn’t know what that meant. My mom and my dad...they were human. They didn’t know. But that one time the tug was...it hurt. And then I turned...and...and...”

Derek kisses the side of her head and holds her. He now wishes he never tried to dig in the first place because sometimes oblivion is bliss. He knows it first-hand.

“Wait a minute,” Theo suddenly speaks up and why is he still speaking? Hasn’t he done enough already? “If both her parents are human, she must have been adopted.”

Derek jerks in surprise. Theo is absolutely right. He hasn’t even considered that angle.

“Can you,” he asks hesitantly, “do you think you can trace her birth parents if that is the case?”

“Easy.” Theo scoffs. “We only need to find out the adoption papers.”

“I thought adoption papers are confidential.” Isaac frowns.

“Not when the adoptive parents are both dead,” Theo replies. “When that happens, the adopted child has every right to seek the identity of their birth parents and the social worker involved in the process is bound by law to provide the information. But of course first, we need to find out where her home is.”

“My home is here,” Malia growls and then looks uncertainly towards Derek. “This is home.” She repeats.

“This is home.” Derek nods. “But...do you remember your other home? Do you even want to?”

“I want to know. If I have other parents, I want to know. But they will think I am a killer.” Malia whispers, distress clear in her voice.

“No, Malia,” Derek grabs her head so that he can look into her eyes. “What you did was not your fault. It was an accident. Do you hear me? Never ever call yourself a killer.”

Then, he turns his attention to Theo, “No more mind games. Ask her what you need straightaway and I may consider letting you go without at least one bruise.”

Theo nods, his face devoid of any trace of his signature smirk for once.


	27. Chapter 27

Derek opens the door only to slam it shut immediately.

“Derek!”

“No.” He climbs onto his bed and pulls the cover for good measure as if he can hide under his favourite baby-blue blanket forever. It didn’t work when he tried to hide from his mother to avoid bath-time and it doesn’t work now.

“Derek,” the second voice calls out, much more hesitant than the other. “We just want to help.”

“No,” Derek mumbles into the sheet.

“See,” Cora is saying and Derek can almost imagine her gesticulating furiously at the closed door. “He won’t come out of his room. This has been going on since morning.”

“Derek, come on. Open up.”  Lydia takes over from Allison again, this time rattling the doorknob sharply which has Derek jump a bit because his hearing is suddenly too sensitive, everything is pretty much too sensitive right now. Even the over-used soft blanket which usually feels like kitten fur is chafing his skin.

“No.” He says again, more forcefully, as if he can stop it just by denial.

He wants to laugh bitterly. It was not that he envisioned his heat to be different because there was no time for such speculation. Still, there might have been a fleeting hope, more like wistfulness, the ever-elusive what-if and look what good it has done to him. Derek loosens his grip on the bottle of pills which he has been clutching to his chest and lets it slide down from his limp fingers. It’s been too late anyway.

The sound of the door breaking should be alarming, but Derek cannot really bring himself to care. He is far away from the realm of caring, only floating in a cloud of pain, so thick that even the haze of sheer physical need is unable to touch him. He just curls in on himself and wishes he doesn’t feel his friends climbing onto the bed beside him, not sure whether to touch, but tentatively reaching out anyway. He can hear Cora’s soothing voice or Lydia giving instructions to Isaac in a clipped tone. He can hear Isaac leaving and Allison on phone, speaking too quietly even for the werewolves to distinguish the words. He can feel Malia curling at his feet, gripping his ankle and trying unsuccessfully to take his pain, something Derek has taught her to do recently. But there is no pain to take this time, not the physical one at least.

This must be a bad joke. It was not supposed to go like this. Stiles was supposed to _be_ here with him. And he may have called out for him a couple of times because his senses are getting muddled by now. Being surrounded by the pack helps, but he jerks again at the strong grip on his shoulder. He opens his eyes and blinks. Has he been crying? Why is his pillow soaking wet and why everything appears so blurry? People are talking around him. _His_ people. They are here for him and will give their life for him and he knows it intellectually, then what is this hollow feeling in his chest? What is this thing that is sucking all his willingness to live?

“Please just let Boyd carry you, Derek.” It is Cora’s voice breaking at the end that Derek complies and stops resisting.

Everything is a blur after that: the car-ride, the familiar hospital bed, the nurse pushing the syringe into his flesh, the overhead light that hurts his pupils and people hovering in the field of his vision, concerned faces...calm voices saying everything is going to be OK and he just needs to hold on. Telling him that he doesn’t need what his soul is craving right freaking now which is Stiles and nobody but Stiles, shoving the hair away from his eyes, touching his clammy forehead, running his long fingers down his arms...touching like he is made of glass. Just. Touching.  

“Is he in there?”

Derek tries to sit up, except for it is not physically possible. But he tries anyway, and in the resultant flailing around his IV drip slips out, blood welling up in its wake.

“I think we need to re-consider the restraints.”

“No, Dr. Deaton. I will personally murder you slowly and painfully if you bring any sort of restraint within his ten-mile radius,” snarls Lydia.

“I need to see him, Scott. Please, I won’t...he won’t even know...please Scott...let me...”

Derek feels his body struggling on its own volition and against his better judgment, honing immediately on Stiles’ voice on the other side of the door, like a siren call, wanting to rush towards it heedlessly.

“Stiles, you need to leave.”

“Allison?” Stiles sounds betrayed and a whole lot of other things too.

“Did you run all the way here?” Derek hears Allison asking, her voice softening a notch, but there is steel beneath it.

“Please, I just need to know he is OK.”

“Maybe you do,” Allison says, in the same firm but gentle tone. “But Derek doesn’t need you right now. Everybody he needs is inside that room.”

“And we will kick your ass if you try, or kick you _in_ the ass.”

“Liam...yes, of course. My own pack turns on me when I am _dying_ here.”

“Not your pack,” Liam is saying snottily. “If you didn’t get the memo then let the ass-kicking be my official notice.”

“Dude,” Scott’s voice drifts to Derek from the other side of the closed door. “Maybe it is better you leave.”

“But Scott...”

“If you love him, you will let him be Stiles.” Scott’s voice is alpha now, not the best friend, not the puppy-eyed almost adult that people take him to be, but full-on alpha.

Stiles seems to be struck dumb for a full minute at that. Then he is leaving without words, footsteps echoing in the corridor. And Derek tears himself off his bed only to be pinned down on it again by Cora.

“I swear to God, I am not going to let you do this to yourself.” Her fingernails dig into his flesh, causing him to wince in pain. Cora loses the claws, but clings to him, fierce determination burning in her eyes.

“Do something,” Lydia yells at Dr. Deaton who is standing with his arms crossed.

“What do you propose, Ms. Martin?” He quirks an eyebrow placidly. “You have already said ‘no’ to the restraints, but it will take at least a quarter of an hour for the medicine to kick in. His body is craving an alpha now, more precisely one particular alpha,” he finishes up with a side-glance towards Malia. “And he has torn his IV drip twice. I think I don’t need to explain it to you that the medicine needs to flow into his system constantly to counter the endorphin and other hormones his body is producing right now. He cannot resist it without medicine.”

Lydia grabs Derek’s face, jostling Cora in the process. “First, don’t ever talk about Derek like he is not in the room and second,” she lowers her head, making eye-contact, “you can and you will.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t done before and you were alone that time.” Cora rejoins.

“Damn, right.” Erica climbs on the bed and leans on his back, hugging him from behind.

“Don’t forget the IV,” Isaac pipes up. Malia just sinks on the floor at Derek’s feet, sitting cross-legged. Then with a huff, she grabs Derek’s hand and places it on her head.

Derek cards his fingers through her hair while holds up the other for Dr. Deaton. His hands are shaking violently, his entire body shaking, but he will make it through. Last time it was pain and this time he has a much better substitute.

To stall his heat, that is.

...

Derek wakes up to the sound of two heartbeats, one inside the room and the other outside, pacing along the adjacent corridor. He sighs heavily. Stiles, if nothing has always been persistent. There used to be a time he found it sweet and adorable. Now though, the only thing he is capable of feeling is this bone-deep weariness.

“Stiles, get out of here before Malia attacks you,” Erica says from the chair by Derek’s bed without opening her eyes.

The other heartbeat quickens and then recedes a few minutes later. Derek listens closely as his senses are coming back to him in full force. Ever since he has turned into a full wolf, all his senses have sharpened ten times and he is still getting used to it.

He waits, for the heartbeat to come back, for the heartbeat to storm through the door like Stiles stormed through his every defense not so long ago.

He waits and then, he makes himself stop.

...

“Derek,” Dr. Deaton greets him like an old friend and not as a person he keeps on meeting in the most stressful situations possible.

“Thank you.” Dr. Deaton stills and then he throws him a smile. Derek is taken aback for a bit, for his smile is surprisingly kind and sweet in his serene face.

“What for? I am just doing my job.” He says. “If I did it better all those years ago, maybe...”

“Don’t,” Derek says, pulling out a chair for himself. “I am learning to let go of my past.”

The corners of Dr. Deaton’s eyes crinkle again. “How is that working out for you?”

Derek snorts. “It’s a work in progress,” he admits.

Dr. Deaton hums. “Well, I get it that you got discharged finally?”

“Two days in the hospital are forty-eight hours too many to hold onto my sanity,” Derek says.

“But you did. You were able to be lucid enough that you didn’t fight us when we tried to keep you from running after Stiles.”

“Maybe because I have...the alpha spark now?”

Dr. Deaton shakes his head wordlessly.

“I killed two alphas.” Derek frowns. “And as much as I regret the circumstances, I cannot bring myself to feel sorry. The only thing that bothers me is that I have stolen the power from two very twisted men.”

“You didn’t inherit the alpha power from Deucalion or his pack, Derek.”

“But my eyes are glowing red and my senses are much sharper and...and I can feel the pack bonds like they are strings physically hooked to my heart. I can hear the heartbeats of my pack from across the town!”

“And then you go to heat.”

Derek deflates. “Yeah, there is that.”

Dr. Deaton rises up from his seat and skirts around his desk to perch on it, facing Derek.

“Do you know why you are a remarkable alpha, Derek?”

Derek looks up at him, puzzled beyond words. “Because you are an alpha, while physiologically being an omega at the same time, by the dint of your pack bond. You became an alpha because you pack chose you and because you willed yourself into it, in order to protect them.”

“How...how do you know I’m not an alpha because I killed Ennis and Deucalion?”

Dr. Deaton pauses before answering him. “Have you seen their wolf forms, especially Deucalion's?”

“How can I forget?” Derek counters.

“Does your wolf form in any way resemble theirs?”

“No.” Derek says slowly.

“And speaking of wolf forms...”

“Only an alpha can take a wolf form, but I did it before I killed Deucalion.” Hope begins to bloom in Derek’s chest.

“And the moment you became a wolf, your eyes started glowing red. Everybody saw it. If killing Ennis did it for you then your eyes would have glowed red much before that.”

Derek feels a weight lifting off his shoulder. “So, what should I even call myself? An alpha, an omega...” he trails off.

“You call yourself Derek Hale. Anything may come afterward.” Dr. Deaton straightens up. “Alpha, beta, omega...we are so obsessed with the classifications now, completely forgetting the fact that we are people before everything and everybody is born equal, with outdated societal beliefs making us assume things about each other.”

“My tattoo.” Derek closes his eyes. “The triskelion...the Hale symbol...my parents always said it represents the alpha, the beta and the omega, that we are all parts of a single whole, making it symmetrical, making our world beautiful.”

“Your parents were wise people.” Dr. Deaton says. “It is time you take up their mantle and continue their legacy.”

“Erica told you,” Derek declares, looking down at his hands.

“Lydia did.” Dr. Deaton says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And if you don’t think you are up to it, you should probably run along to stop her from booking the flight tickets.”

Derek’s head snaps up. “I haven’t answered them yet. She won’t be able to...”

“There were talks about forging your signature? I wouldn’t know. Something about your sister having an identical handwriting as yours. But of course, I might have misheard.”

Derek rises to his feet. “I better go then. I apologise on behalf of my pack if they...well, I don’t even want to know what they did or didn’t during my stay here. I will pay for all the damage.”

“Well, now that you mention it, there may be a broken vending machine involved. But Scott called the other day to let me know he would purchase the hospital a new one, though I don’t even know how he learnt about it.”

“Good to know,” Derek grimaces.

“And a leg of the bed you occupied may have been chewed on at one point in time. Especially when you were not waking up after twenty-four hours.”

“Oh God,” Derek face-palms. “Don’t tell me she bit the nurses too.”

“If she did, nobody really minded.” Dr. Deaton assures. “They know she didn’t actually mean it and she only did it with her human teeth.”

“Small mercies,” Derek scrunches his face. “Anyway, Isaac and Erica are waiting for me. Any last minute advice?”

“Next time, when you feel your heat coming up, you let your pack know instead of indulging in wishful thinking that it is not really what you think it is.” Dr. Deaton smiles. “Let your friends help. You are not alone anymore.”

Derek’s answering smile is small but genuine. “I think I may have started to believe that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


	28. Chapter 28

“Hey, so the good news is that I have booked our flight, flights, to be more specific because the one that reaches Tokyo just in time for us to attend the first conference was already full. The UFS rep pulled some strings for securing four tickets for us and the...well..." she trails off, clearing her throat. "The rest are taking a different flight but they will arrive a day after.”

When Lydia starts to ramble, it is reason enough for the alarm bells to go off in Derek's head.

“For us and the _..._ ” he prompts.

“Yeah,” Lydia stalls. “ _That_ is kind of the not-so-good news.”

“What have you done this time?” Derek frowns.

“I don’t...why do you always assume _I_ would do something?” Lydia deflects.

Derek stares at her, unimpressed. “Well,” she huffs. “It was that one time. I got carried away.”

“Carried away?” Derek asks incredulously. “You forged my signature Lydia. You composed a letter and forged my signature and worked out the details, all behind my back.”

“Look into my eyes and tell me you would have come to a decision before it was too late.” Lydia crosses her arms across her chest.

Derek averts his eyes. “That is beside the point.”

“No, Der, not really.” Lydia approaches him and gently cups his face to make him look at her again. “You need to realise what you have achieved is bigger than you. That Deucalion is not the first one to take advantage of a system which is skewed heavily in favour of a particular section of society and he won’t be the last one. You can be their saviour, Der. You can make a difference in people’s lives. You can make it better for them, for the future generation.”

Derek stares at her earnest face and he knows she is telling the truth. He would never have it in him to answer the letter from the USF. He has been stalling, foolishly, because he is scared to face his own fears, re-live the hell he has been dragged through, because he hates spotlights of any kind, to draw attention to himself; he hates to assume the part of a leader when he is just floundering around. But it is not about him and Lydia is right. If he can really make a difference by being a symbol of hope, he is willing to set aside his trepidation, his insecurities, his everything in general and be the face of a silent revolution.

Looking into Lydia’s eyes, this brilliant woman who for some godforsaken reason has chosen to believe in him, Derek thinks maybe it is time that he starts to believe in himself as well.

“You get it right?” Lydia asks because there must be some sort of resolve hardening behind his eyes which Lydia can read. She is perceptive like that. Then, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “We are all so proud of you. You know that right?”

Derek ducks his head blushing. “I know.”

“So, you know what needs to be done.”

“Yes.” Derek nods again. “But you cannot distract me for long. Out with the bad news.”

Lydia grimaces. “It turns out our pack has been invited as well, because of our role in the whole drama surrounding you and Deucalion. Also, they are very curious about the open nature of our pack and how so many different kinds of supernaturals have been co-existing under two alpha werewolves.”

“That’s...that is not even remotely a bad news.” Derek counters. “You guys helped me when no-one dared to help me and as far as I have gathered, I was not the first person you helped. You have saved countless lives before or have offered shelters to teenagers who have nowhere to go, integrating them into your pack. Your pack is remarkable.”

Lydia hums. “So, you have nothing against my pack for how Stiles treated you?”

“Of course not,” Derek says indignantly. “You guys fought the AACF army for me. All of you risked your lives for me, Stiles included. Scott put his job in line in order to rescue me. How can I be angry with you?”

“So, you will be completely OK to exist in the same room as Stiles," she raises an eyebrow. Derek's face must have betrayed the alarm he felt and so she quickly amended, "I mean the conference room, not a hotel room."

Derek mulls over it for some time and when he speaks, he is fairly certain that his voice doesn’t wobble. Probably. “I cannot avoid him for all eternity, Lydia. Our paths are bound to cross at one point of time and it better be when I am prepared for it rather than be completely blindsided.”

“Then you should have no problem that we are taking the same flight to Tokyo and checking into the same hotel because the rest were booked, I know, I checked,” Lydia talks over him before Derek can open his mouth and sighs. “I am sorry Derek. The UFS rep thought our packs wouldn’t have any problem being on the same floor because they assumed we are very close. After all, you guys share your Emissary, which is pretty unheard of.”

Derek’s head snaps up at that and he grins at her genuinely. “Really?”

“Really, you goober,” Lydia reaches out and ruffles his hair. Then, she walks up to the window and stares outside where Liam and Mason are play-fighting with Erica and Isaac while Malia is cheering them on. “Who else is going to keep these miscreants in line if not me?”

“Who else indeed?” Derek laughs and hugs her from behind, dropping a kiss on her head. “I am so glad you are our emissary.”

“Hey, that sounds nice when you tack on a ‘my queen’ at the end of it.” Lydia smacks his wrist playfully.

“Of course, my queen.”

“So, I was hoping you would bake me one of your famous key lime pies again. Since _this_ calls for a celebration.”

“What does?” Cora calls from the doorway.

They turned towards her in unison. “We are going to Japan,” Lydia beams at her.

Cora whoops in joy and hugs them both. “Finally,” she breathes into Derek’s armpit.

“So, key lime pie.”

“Of course, my queen.”

“Ass,” Lydia laughs but tightens her arms around him.

 

...

 

There are consequences with every war. Changes. There is a clear demarcation of the before and the after. It is naïvety to think once the war is over, everything will just fall into place and will be much the same as, or in case of the winning side, much better than before.

Derek likes to think it has already been established he is not stupid or naïve. With the kind of life fate dealt him, it is impossible to be either and still survive. But he doesn't know when, between their daring escape across the country or fighting the alpha pack on his own terms, he started to hope, rather foolishly, maybe it would be over if by some miracle he wins this fight. This is what happens in a movie, doesn't it? The bad guys are dead and gone. People cheer on as the land soaks the enemy blood eagerly, making them pay for their every transgression. The protagonists ride off into the sunset with an air of ‘happily ever after’ hanging thick in the air. The credit rolls. The audience goes home happy.

He is mulling over all these when his attention snaps back to reality as the pre-boarding announcement for the Tokyo-bound flight echoes across the waiting area.

He considers for a moment if he should acknowledge the magazine. An airport is a place where myriad smells swirl in the air, making it near impossible to be able to use one's olfactory sense to identify somebody. But then, of course, this particular magazine two rows down the line from him seems to contain a comparison on the best female hygiene products and has not moved in the last quarter of an hour.

“Derek,” Cora touches his elbow, eyeing the magazine in a way Derek is sure is bound to set it on fire. “Let’s go.”

"Lydia?"

"She texted me," Cora indicates her phone. "Told us to go ahead and she will catch us on the plane."

Derek rises to his feet and the magazine rises too. As he approaches the exit he can feel the magazine following him at a discreet distance. It should be impressive given the way the magazine is still open and held the exact same way, covering the person’s face, as if it would make any difference.

Derek is suddenly beyond irritated. He stops and waits, and just as he thought, the magazine bumps into him in no time.

“D-Derek...” it greets him. Cora’s grip on his elbow is going to bruise, surely.

“Tampons vs. menstrual cups: a bloody revolution?” Derek reads aloud, though he has to bend his head at an unnatural angle to do that. “Really?” He straightens up.

“That is very sexist. Where is it written that a man cannot be interested in the comparative analysis of a product which is an essential part of a woman’s everyday life?”

“I have never said that.” Derek valiantly desists from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Except for it may be a bit hard to make sense of the article upside down.”

Stiles makes a strangled noise and rights the magazine, still hiding behind it.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” Cora asks exasperatedly.

“Well, Lydia said Derek doesn’t want to see my face.”

Derek looks up, only to be met with the ceiling of the airbridge, which reminds him they are kind of standing in the middle of the passage, blocking everybody’s path.

“I really don’t have time for this shit,” he mutters.

“Hey, I was not the one who stopped for a chit-chat,” Stiles protests.

“Well, when Lydia told me you guys have been in...oh for the love of God, would you lose the magazine?” Derek growls.

Stiles lowers it gingerly and Derek’s breath is caught in his throat. Stiles is thin, well thinner because he has always been on the lankier side, with dark circles under his eyes. He is looking sheepish, shoulders hunched in a way as if he is hoping to be invisible altogether like he is sorry for taking up this much space and wasting up this much oxygen.

There is a tiny part of Derek that is basking in smugness that Stiles is clearly suffering, though from what he cannot tell. Or he probably can, but is too tired to deal with this back and forth. There is a part of him that thinks Stiles deserves it for treating Derek the way he did. But there is another, a much larger part that knows it is not OK, that Stiles is a good person beneath everything and just because he has broken Derek’s heart, doesn’t automatically cancels it out.

“Guys. Move.” Cora tugs Derek forward throwing a glare towards Stiles, silently commanding him to move as well. “Call me unreasonably demanding, but I, for one, want to get into that flight any time this year.”

“At least, you don’t have to see my face once inside,” Stiles says, falsely cheerful.

Derek almost opens his mouth because he has a fucking speech ready in answer to that, but he just shakes his head and strides forward.

It has only been five minutes after sinking into his seat, giving up the window seat for Cora who is radiating a quiet excitement which is kind of infections that he hears Stiles arguing with the flight attendant.

“Are you sure I am not supposed to be in the economy class.”

“Sir, as I said, your tickets are of the business class,” the attendant sounds exasperated. “I assure you there is no mix-up.”

This cannot be happening. There is a ball of dread in the pit of Derek’s stomach and sure as hell there is Stiles stumbling inside, more likely given a light shove by Lydia who appears behind him, her smile sharp, but Derek knows her well enough now to pick out the concern behind the icy facade.

“You were saying?” Derek turns to Stiles and raises an eyebrow after half an hour of silence, which has been grating on his nerves.

“About what?” Stiles asks, trying to appear nonchalant, but his heart is beating a mile a minute. Lydia is the very picture of calm beside her, but Derek can see her fingers wrapped around Stiles’ wrist. Derek doesn’t know if that is merely to prevent Stiles from locking himself into the toilet again (as he tried to do unsuccessfully a while back). He is probably a very bad person that it makes him unreasonably angry because God only knows he has come to think of Lydia as his friend too and he doesn’t want her to take Stiles’ side. He knows holding hands doesn't mean she is on Stiles' side and that Lydia is probably as much concerned about him as she is about Stiles, but he can't help the fury that burns low in his guts. He knows it is petty and childish and monumentally stupid given the fact that Stiles, Lydia and Scott were friends since they were in the kindergarten. If it comes between the two of them, Lydia will obviously pick Stiles. Then, he remembers that she really didn't. That when he needed her the most, she had guarded him, protecting him from Stiles of all people, her alpha, as much fiercely as his pack; she and Allison. He sighs. 

Stiles is still looking at him expectantly. 

Fuck it all, Derek just wants a moment of peace and enjoy his first flight if it is not too much to ask!

“About not seeing your face,” Derek grinds out. “It’s a tad difficult when you are sitting right beside me.”

“I was...hoping you were going to kind of overlook that?”

“Like you were hoping I wouldn’t notice the upside down magazine?”

“Well, I do have faith in my ninja skills to be subtle and invisible...”

Derek exhales, thumping his head against the backrest. “Stiles, you are about as invisible as a herd of elephants with the word ‘invisible’ written across their foreheads.”

“Well, technically...”

“I don’t want to know.” Derek puts up his hand. Stiles is leaning forward in his seat, looking a bit like himself again. “I. Don’t. Care.” Derek makes himself look into his eyes and enunciate each word.

“Sorry. Too soon?”

Derek doesn’t answer. Cora squeezes his hand and he is probably a coward to let her do all the talking through the glare that she directs at Stiles, ordering him to shut the fuck up.

This is going to be a hell of a long flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


	29. Chapter 29

Derek visualised Tokyo with Mt. Fuji painted in the background of its skyline, which is not the case, unfortunately. However, that doesn’t mean the city isn’t beautiful. Their little party of four didn’t even have the time to get awkward during the thirty-minute car ride (at least it is a limousine which has plenty of room to pretend to ignore one another) while they gape and take in the city with its tall buildings and gardens and shrines and waterways and seaside-parks. The weather is pleasant, much milder than it is in California. When they reach their hotel, there is an IFS representative, a rare bear-shifter, to welcome them and help them settle down. There is simply no room to be anything less than cheerful because the atmosphere is festive and whoever they meet have nothing but kind words for both the young alphas.

Even the fact that Stiles who will be sharing his room with Scott and Danny will be just across Derek, fails to dampen his mood now. The only thing missing is the rest of his pack. They will be one day behind and therefore Derek needs to go down and register himself and his pack beforehand, something which would have probably been a daunting task even a couple of months ago. But it is different now. Everybody is not a threat or every situation is not to be assessed like he is standing on the battleground. It’s an old habit, but Derek can fight it, override his instinct and his first reaction because although the battle is far from over, it’s not to be won by issuing a challenge of a death match.

Perhaps if he were the former Derek, the one who never let his guard down, he may not have missed the guy with camera, who is keeping a close eye on him and Stiles even when the guy seems too busy taking pictures of the seminar hall or the who’s who of the shifter world who are present for the inauguration speech by the General Secretary.

“Maybe it’s not been a bad idea to come.” Derek finally gives in after a lot of goading from Lydia. They are occupying a table of six where the bear-shifter, Mark, has joined them along with his heavily pregnant wife. Stiles is totally fascinated by her.

“Not a bad idea?” Lydia scoffs. “It’s the best thing that has ever happened to us in the entire, crappy year.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” Derek shakes his head as much at the memory as at Stiles’ antics who is pressing an ear to Jasmine’s stomach, trying to listen to a heartbeat.

“I can hear her!” Stiles yells, making Derek roll his eyes.

“And she can hear you as well. I am sure she is thanking you for bursting her eardrums even before she is born,” he says.

“And I can hear her heartbeat just fine sitting right here,” Cora declares.

“But this is so much louder like she is pounding my head with tiny fists.” Stiles straightens up, a goofy smile lighting up his face.

“She probably _is_ trying to do exactly that,” Derek monotones. “And Jasmine’s husband should probably want that hand back, any time now.”

Stiles predictably trips over a chair in his haste to drop her hand which he has been holding unconsciously, making both Jasmine and her husband Mark laugh.

“I think you are the funniest alpha werewolf I have ever met,” Mark comments.

“Our fearless alpha, ladies, and gentlemen.” Lydia smothers a laugh in her hand.

“Yeah, gang up on me, why don’t you.” Stiles legitimately pouts.

“Oh, don’t worry, you are still my favourite,” Lydia waves dismissively.

“Really?” Stiles asks, lighting up.

“Just after Derek.” Lydia smiles at Stiles, saccharine sweet.

Before Stiles can express his outrage, Jasmine places a hand on his arm and whispers conspiratorially, though everybody sitting at the table can hear her loud and clear, “Don’t fret love. We all can see you are somebody else’s favourite.”

Her eyes are on Derek and there is a knowing smile at the corner of her lips, the kind of smile that only intelligent and perceptive females like hers can muster. Stiles laughs and the mood in the table is suddenly changed because his laugh is dark and humourless and nobody will mistake it for a happy sound.

“You have no idea how far from the truth that is.”

When Stiles rises and leaves, nobody tries to stop him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jasmine looks contrite.

“I don’t think it’s anything you said darling,” Mark soothes her, wrapping a hand around her shoulder.

Derek looks at the perfect picture of happiness in front of him. He is not jealous exactly, but he is not sure what he feels.

“It’s almost time,” Cora glances at her phone, trying to break the awkward tension. “It will be a pity if he misses the opening ceremony.”

“He will come back,” Lydia says confidently.

Again, Derek knows to read the concern on Lydia’s face. He doesn’t want to be the person right now to comfort Stiles or to confront him, for at this moment anything is possible. It has not escaped his notice how Stiles has got better infinitesimally, during the plane ride and then in the car, opening up more and more as Derek becomes more and more tired fighting this warmth that spreads into his chest each time he looks into his eyes. It has not escaped his notice either that Stiles has never said sorry. Either because he thinks he has been justified in leaving Derek’s side so abruptly and without letting him explain his side of the story altogether or because he doesn’t know what to say sorry for. Either way, it is not a place where he thinks he can even contemplate about repairing whatever has been broken between the two of them.

Derek exhales. So far, it has mostly been Stiles chasing after him, all his clumsy attempts at courting, his attempts to save Derek either from Scott’s righteous wrath to Deucalion’s snare. He has been chasing after Derek for so long that Derek has probably taken it for granted and Stiles has finally snapped after finding out and forgiving almost all his faults, all the cracks in his veneer, discovering something ugly underneath that he has not been prepared to see. Finally, Derek has done something which Stiles finds too much to forgive and forget.

“I am going to...” Derek stands and looks around and makes a gesture with his hand which doesn’t really make any sense.

“Of course,” Jasmine beams at him.

Derek doesn’t even look at the two other females at the table and pushes through the crowd. He stalks towards the bar sniffing the air. Suddenly, there is a bell going off somewhere and people around him immediately disperse, turning to go back to their respective tables.

Derek spots Stiles easily since the bar counter is nearly empty now. He has loosened the tie around his neck and he has a drink in his hand, something in the shade of sapphire blue. Derek knows Stiles has probably picked it because of the colour, with no idea of what has gone into it. To think that Derek knows this detail about the man whose eyes are now fixed on the ground, his shoulders cutting a defeated curve and the ever-smiling lips thinned either in anger or apathy.

Derek can cover the ground in just ten strides to reach Stiles. And he will. He most definitely will once he gets a hold of himself, arrange his facial features into the signature blankness and willing his heart not to lurch at the sight.

He can hear the host has already started with the rehearsed speech in the auditorium and is about to introduce the General Secretary, but that is not what makes up his mind.

There is that photographer again, Derek frowns, feet already moving with determination. There is something familiar about him, the way his eyes are darting around the room and the expensive camera hanging from his neck.

There is something heavy in the air, something that smells odd and unpleasant, Derek has the hair at the nape of his head stand up and he is almost on Stiles who is still oblivious to the outside world. Derek starts walking just as the guy...picks up the bottle he is nursing close to his body as if to take a leisurely sip, but his eyes are razor focussed and the subject of its entire attention is none other than Derek who is still half a dozen feet away.

Matt Daehler.

Derek suddenly remembers; the reporter who had testified against him at RWCB during his trial. He had described in vivid details Derek’s ‘out-of-control' behaviour in the club and how it had scared him. How as a responsible citizen he thought he was doing a social service when he had written that article on Derek, drawing the authority’s attention to the possibly feral omega.

“Stiles,” Derek watches as his head jerks up in surprise and his eyes lock with his immediately.

It doesn’t play in slow motion this time, but exactly the opposite, though the end result is going to be really similar. Derek is moving and at three, two, one...he is right where he wants to be. He shoves Stiles off the bar stool even as Daehler throws the bottle at the glass display counter behind the bar. Derek drops on him, covering his wiry frame with his body. Stiles is of course too stunned to resist, but at least he is nearly unscathed except for the blazing heat of the fire.

“Derek!” Stiles has sprung up immediately, the fool.

“G-get down...” Derek slurs, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“Derek, it’s over.” Stiles crouches and grabs him as he starts to list sideways. “And holy God, I can’t even believe...stupid werewolf...no, no, no, don’t you dare. Keep your eyes open please...”

Before everything goes black, Derek has the satisfaction of seeing the police slapping handcuffs on Matt Daehler who is nearly frothing at the mouth while shouting anti-shifter slogans.

...

There were seventy-four shards of glass that were pulled out from his back, and his sides and his shoulder blades. Derek is so thankful to have passed out during the entire procedure. His back is healed now, thanks to his alpha spark, but still, he can feel the phantom pain, making him wary to lie on his back. He is lying on his stomach on his hotel bed, having brushed aside Mark and Jasmine’s attempts to take him to the hospital. At least here he is surrounded by the smell of pack and he can hear Stiles pacing in the corridor, reminding him of the hospital.

Cora and Lydia are downstairs talking with the police, trying their very best to shift the attention from Derek. If he has to give _another_ statement to the police he will start screaming. The security agency responsible for the event, the hotel’s security head, the captain of the UFS intelligence department, flown in from Budapest – everybody has had more than one sessions with Derek, poring over the details of the attack and the possible reasons behind it.

Turns out that Matt Daehler had a grudge against Stiles because he had broken his camera after confronting him trying to take Derek’s picture during one of his morning runs a couple of weeks after the nightclub incident. It’s by sheer luck that Stiles and Scott had spotted him lurking behind a bush near Derek’s house and they had recognized him as the person who had written the scathing newspaper report on Derek. Matt Daehler, it appeared, was also a student of Beacon Hills and was no stranger to them because he had been beaten up before by Scott for stalking Allison when they were all juniors in the Beacon Hills High. This time too they suspected him of stalking someone because he was acting really weird. To their utter astonishment, they found out it was none other than Derek whom, Matt had followed right after he had run past him. When they had confronted Matt, he tried to play the whole thing down but Stiles had already snatched his camera and he was horrified to find his camera was full of Derek’s picture, candid shots, taken without his knowledge or consent, proving for a fact he had been following Derek around and taking pictures for more than a few months. Stiles and Scott had no time to warn Derek because it was the same day Deucalion’s party took place, after which they kind of forgot about the whole incident.

It is still not clear why Matt Daehler would try to kill Stiles in a place where he is bound to get caught and he might not be successful in the first place. Lydia surmises it may be because he wanted to make a statement in support of the anti-shifter lobby, a small but rabid human-only group that takes delight in terrorizing the supernatural community. Killing Stiles was probably a not-entirely-undesirable by-product of that.

Derek shudders and presses his face into the pillow. If he has been half a second late, Stiles would have taken the full brunt of the explosion and not on the back, like Derek did, but one of the glass shards might have plunged right into his heart. Even alpha werewolves have no chances surviving that.

“You can come in, you know.” He mutters. “I won’t bite.”

There is a noticeable pause from all that pacing and then, “You are saying it now. You will go back to that unhappy expression if you see my face again.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, “I have been seeing your face quite frequently of late. I even smiled at you when we ‘officially’ met downstairs for the benefit of Mark and Jasmine who believe we are soul-mates or something.”

“You call that a smile? That is more like: throat, meet teeth!”

Derek snorts out a laugh. He cannot help it. Stiles has the ability to make him smile in the most bizarre situation.

He gets up from the bed and grabs the doorknob, but thinks better of it at the last moment. He can feel Stiles waiting on the other side, can almost see him biting his lips anxiously. He tries to remember Stiles hasn’t said sorry again. But then, hasn’t he really? Derek has always been the one to advocate the importance of action over words. Hasn’t Stiles said sorry over and over through his actions?

He sits down with his back against the door instead of opening it and facing Stiles, his elbows resting on the knees. There is the pinprick of pain at his back, but he ignores it.

“People sometimes fall for an ideal.” Derek can hear himself talk. “Of the idea of someone who doesn’t exist in reality. Superimposing your desires on somebody who is easy on the eye. Somebody physically attractive.”

“No, Derek,” Stiles whispers, sinking down to the ground mirroring Derek’s pose. “After everything we went through, you still can’t believe that.”

“Why not?” Derek asks, voice rising. “When I turned out less than ideal, you literally ran from me.”

“It’s not...that is not...” Stiles sighs heavily. “It’s not why I ran.”

“You never once looked back, Stiles. You never even tried to contact me. It was so easy for you.”

“It was anything but easy.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“Because I didn’t know OK? I didn’t know what to feel,” Stiles yells. “I have built up my life around a moral code and I tend to stick to it. I couldn’t process it when you straight up tore through an entire pack even after they had submitted to you. Only you never gave them a chance. I was so torn between feeling so fucking relieved that you will never have to be afraid of Deucalion anymore and thinking how it could be avoided if you just tried a bit harder.”

“I didn’t have to try harder, Stiles,” Derek growls. “I don’t owe them anything after what they did to me.”

“I know. Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Stiles agrees quietly.

“So, where does it leave us?” Derek lets his head thump against the back wall, closing his eyes, preparing himself for the eventuality.

“I can’t really live without you, Derek, but I know I have fucked up way too much.” Stiles sounds like he is shoving his fingers restlessly through his hair. “I cannot guarantee I won’t fuck up again and I don’t even know if I have been forgiven for the last one.”

“You aren’t.”

“So I thought.”

“Maybe a little bit. Because of Malia.”

“OK?”

“Or maybe quite a bit. Because let’s face it, I haven’t been a paragon of virtue either.”

“Derek, you are nothing less than perfect.”

“Yeah. More like a perfect killing machine.”

“Don’t say that,” Stiles says, low and hurt. “I have got such a dressing down from my dad that you won’t even imagine.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Saying sorry?”

Stiles sighs. “I cannot see how I could react in any other way than how I reacted, but I am sorry for hurting you in the process.”

Derek is quiet for a long moment. “So, you are saying it is inevitable that we are going to hurt each other.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stiles whispers instead of denying it. “Ever.”

“I believed that when you held me...in that log cabin of yours...in the mountains,” Derek says haltingly, looking at his hands. “I believed as long as I have you, I am invincible and nothing can touch me. In that moment I could believe in the impossible. Like I could be loved, unconditionally.” He paused to clear his throat. “I felt loved.”

“And now?” Stiles’ voice is a wreck.

“I...don’t know actually,” Derek confesses, barely above a whisper. “I have got a family again...friends...and I don’t feel threatened anymore. People actually – ”

Stiles’ phone rang in his pocket, shrilly calling for his attention.

“Whoever this is,” Derek hears him saying, “now is not a good time, buddy.”

Derek scrubs his face with both hands and stands up. What is he trying to accomplish here? Stiles has not asked to get back. He has said sorry in a round-about way, but he hasn’t said that he wants to go back to where they were before the fight with Deucalion. Does he really not want to? Derek suddenly has to see Stiles’ face. He has to see him and probably grab him by the jacket collar and shake him and ask him what the hell he wants from Derek.

He opens the door to see Stiles too has stood up, phone still in hand, but his face has gone completely white.

“Stiles?” Derek frowns, taking a step towards him. Stiles doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move either.

A voice is saying something from the receiver, indicating the phone is not disconnected, though Stiles has stopped responding to it. Derek knows that voice. He steps into Stiles’ personal space and places a hand on his shoulder.

Still, no response.

Derek pries the phone from his hand, gently, and holds it to his ear.

“...give the phone to Derek. This is your last warning.”

“Gerard,” he says in a monotone. “What do you want?”

“You on your knees taking what your alpha gives you, Derek, like a good dog that you are.”

“What?” Derek feels the blood draining from his face as well.

“I have a bomb on that plane, Derek, and I have got the remote control right here. You are intelligent for an omega. You know what that means, right?”

Derek immediately knows what plane he is talking about. There is only one plane in the universe he is interested in right now, both him and Stiles, because their entire packs are on that plane.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, but his hands are shaking.

“What if he is?” Stiles says and Derek turns on his heels. Stiles has somehow woken up from his stupor and has entered into his room. “What if he is telling the truth?”

“Listen to your alpha,” Gerard chuckles on the other side. “Are you willing to take that chance? It won’t take anything for me to press the button. I have no love lost for McCall.”

“Your grand-daughter is on that plane too,” Derek exclaims furiously, “as are innocent people who have nothing to do with you or me.”

“Oh, she is a disappointment to the Argent name,” Gerard says. “And I can sacrifice my own son, even, if it fits my purpose, let alone random strangers.”

“And what is your purpose this time?” Derek grinds out, his eyes locked on Stiles who has picked up Derek’s phone from the side table and is furiously typing something into it.

“I want to make sure people see you and think exactly what I think of you,” Gerard says, “a pathetic little omega who is not worthy of the respect UFS is bestowing on him. Somebody broken and twisted inside, a far cry from the hero everybody is making you to be.”

“Did you send Matt to kill Stiles. Or me?” Derek asks, breathless.

“Won’t you like to know?” Gerard laughs. “Oh, but this will be a much better ending for your life-story. You will not be dead, only destroyed. The UFS invited you as a guest speaker. I will make sure you may talk as much as you like, may as well cry yourself hoarse, but people will never deign to listen to you.”

“The plane has just taken off,” Stiles whispers meeting Derek’s horrifying gaze. “None of the calls are going through.”

“Oh did I forget to mention there is a GPS tracker inside the plane and if it veers slightly off the course, I am going to press the button anyway,” Gerard says conversationally.

“OK, I am listening,” Derek says. His hands are still shaking, but he knows Gerard has them by the balls. They cannot go to the police because they may not find Gerard in time. They cannot call their pack members because what good will it do except for making them panic.

“That you will, my dear boy,” Gerard laughs, a sickly thing that prickles Derek’s skin. “Now listen to me carefully. The two of you have ten hours, which is not enough, but as of now, it will do. Get out from that hotel and find hotel Sakura at Kabukicho. A room has been booked there in Mr. Stilinski’s name. You will find everything you need in your room including a laptop with a webcam. I will be watching.”

“OK.” The word is punched out of Derek, though he wants to say ‘no’, scream it at the top of his lungs.

“Good. Remember, I want it exactly as it used to be done by my daughter, the one who knew how to keep you in your place. Give me a good show and I will see about not being tempted to press this little, red button. And your time starts–”

Derek disconnects the call before he crushes the phone in his hand.

“What the hell is he talking about?” Stiles takes a step towards him.

“Call Chris and your father,” Derek says. He is trying to stay calm, but it is a losing battle. “Tell them everything, but tell them they cannot go to the police. Gerard seems to have a mole everywhere. We cannot risk any more people knowing.”

“Chris may have an idea...”

“Yeah, ask them to find Gerard right fucking now and stop him if they can before it is too late,” Derek rakes both his hands through his hair.

“Derek...”

“Call Lydia and tell them we are going off for a bit, sans our bodyguards, because we have decided to talk things out.”

“Der...”

“Then, try Isaac or Allison’s phone. Once the plane is in the air, they may switch on their phones. Tell them there might be a bomb on the plane and to look for it very discreetly, trying to sniff it out after slipping into the cargo area for that is where it is more than likely to be planted. If we are lucky, they will be able to find it and dispose of it somehow. Allison has training; she will be able to defuse the bomb.”

“Derek!” Stiles strides up to him and hugs him close. Derek is stiff in his arms for a second and then he sags into it, strings cut.

“We can’t...I can’t lose them a second time, Stiles,” he says.

“We won’t,” Stiles says. Derek shakes his head, words sticking in his throat. “Hey, hey...look at me.”

Stiles grabs his face and ducks down to make eye-contact. “My dad will find Gerard even if that bastard is hiding in the fucking Mariana Trench. You get that, right? He is going to find him and make sure he cannot hurt anybody.”

“Yeah, but we can’t really take any chances, can we?” Derek ignores how his entire being has started to relax the moment Stiles has his arms around him because it will start soon.

“OK, so we will humour him and go find this hotel and see what he has in store for us in that fucking room he has booked in our name...why are you shaking...Derek? Derek? Why are you...oh my God, Derek...please stop shaking...you are scaring me...”

“I...I h-have some clue...” Derek doesn’t want to be this much weak. He wants to be strong for his pack and for Stiles for what his role is going to be in this clusterfuck. “And you are not going to like it.”

He steps away from Stiles, whose eyes register hurt. But Derek cannot even look him in the eye right now, because what Stiles will do, will be compelled to do pretty soon, because of the memories Stiles is going to drag to the forefront...and it will destroy him forever.

How fucking right Gerard was!

 _Give me a good show_ – Derek feels like throwing up, but instead, he meets Stiles’ eyes evenly. “Let’s go. We are wasting time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Graphic description of torture and violence, dub-con BDSM, mention of sadomasochistic tendencies and unhealthy coping mechanism. Please avoid if you think it may trigger you.

Derek takes one look at the objects arranged like an offering on a dark red velvet cloth and just like that he is sucked back into the vortex of darkness he thought he had left far behind. He hears the soft click of the door closing behind him, locking him inside his nightmare, but he is quite unable to look away. Somebody is calling him by his name, but he cannot hear past the ringing in his own ears.

Then, like a shot in the dark, her voice rings out.

“Miss me, sweetie?”

Derek feels his knees give out underneath him and all the air in his lungs leave with a whoosh.

“Breathe.”

With one single command, Derek straightens up, sucking in oxygen greedily as a pair of boots appears in his line of vision. Then his vision is swimming again and the boots change shape...until they belong to somebody who should not have been alive. Derek looks up, knowing it is against the rule. He knows the punishment for this single act of disobedience, but he has a promise to keep, the one that he made to himself standing over his family’s graves: that he will never be that guy anymore who would let another person do as they please with him, toying with his body the way they want and him allowing it. So, he looks up and meets her eyes, making her smile broader, pearl-white teeth glistening in the light and blond hair framing her oval face like a halo. She is beautiful, as always. Even when she was...

Derek swallows. Kate laughs as she brushes her knuckles against his Adam’s apple.

“Still so gorgeous.”

Derek flinches. Her scent is thick in his nose making it hard to think past his first instinct of running the hell away, from this room, from this building, from this country if possible. Run and never look back. But that has never been an option. When has running ever solved his problem? Still, he cannot quite help the shiver, hating the way it makes her laugh, hating it, even more, when she takes it as an invitation to card his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back. Then, she is leaning down, running her nose along his jawline.

“Still smells so enticing.”

Derek wants to push her away. He knows he is strong enough. He wants to run and shift and tear her from limb to limb for daring to touch him again, but it won't do. All he remembers past the haze that has settled into his brain that he must stay put and endure. He knows he can take lives and he can give it away too, just as easily. For his pack and for Stiles. He knows he cannot let anything remotely bad happen to Stiles that can make him suffer.

He will do what he has to do.

It is easy to choose because there has never been any other option. 

Because Derek has come to love them fiercely, this second family he has built around himself. And he loves Stiles. It doesn't matter if Stiles doesn't feel the same way, it doesn't matter if he doesn't return his affection...Derek's heart is his to break. Derek has handed over the key to him willingly a long time back and has never wanted it back. He can't let Stiles go through this terrible emptiness that follows the loss of a pack. Derek simply can't.

So, he squares his shoulders and looked into her eyes dancing with mirth. She may do her worst. Derek is ready.

Then she is brushing his lips with her thumb and cupping his face and whispering dirty promises into his ears...and no, Derek is _not_ ready. He once thought her to be his salvation: stripped bare of everything, the one true thing he could hold onto. The blood drying on his skin, the bone healing under his flesh, those were the things that held him up and he lost so much into it. He never knew how much. He lost his soul each day, saw it with his own eyes to wither and die and little pieces of him died. With every breath he took in her presence, he inhaled her poison. Willingly.

He is not...he cannot go through this again. He had convinced himself it was a ferocious kind of love that Kate had for him, and that he deserved to be punished to be allowed to experience it. So, it was only natural that the punishment came before the gratification. It was only natural for Kate not to let him decide because he was...is so worthless and he shouldn't have the power to make a decision. He had shut out his entire family, not being able to look into their eyes, because they wouldn't understand. It was the day he had shoved Cora down the stairwell in a fit of rage when she had refused to let him be and his mom had looked at him and for a fraction of a second there was no recognition in her eyes, that made him realise how far he had fallen. 

"Sweetie," Kate whispers, all lethal grace of a viper, "I hope you remember our game. I hope you remember what comes next."

Derek closes his eyes, fighting the rising wave of nausea.

He has seen her burn, damnit! He was busy clawing at Laura who had him on a chokehold on the ground and shouting in his ears how there was nothing he could do and how he would only get himself killed. He remembered for certain Kate’s feet trapped in the floor just beyond the front door and her desperate screams for help as she had managed to claw the front door open, but couldn’t take a step beyond. Derek didn’t know if it was madness or foolhardy on her part to stay inside the burning house that long after igniting the fire or if she was looking for Derek.

Well, who is he kidding? Of course, she was looking for Derek and he knows why. She had wanted to drag him out and keep him alive.

She wanted to make him watch.

It was, after all, what she had promised him, in a seductive whisper that had made Derek cold all over, when he had called her five days ago to let her know he would not see her again and that he had finally decided to let her parents take him to a therapist and he hoped she had a good life.

“Sweetie, I will burn your world around you and take you for mine,” she had said. “You cannot run from me.”

But Laura had burst through his door and hugged him close and jumped from the window before Kate could make good of her promise, ending up with a broken leg and in Derek’s case a few broken ribs. Even then, Laura had been able to drag him away until he was still dazed from pain and shock and then the struggle had started. Derek knew his parents were in the basement along with his grandparents and uncles and aunts and young cousins to help them with the full moon. Derek knew it because he was the one to lock the basement on his mother’s command. It was not that they didn’t have an iron control over their wolves, but the little ones were prone to running away making the entire pack panic for the next few days until they were found hiding in the preserve. The world at large was still full of wonders, for them.

Derek and Laura were in charge of the house that night while the young shifters gamboled to their hearts’ content in the confines of the basement while their parents looked on fondly. Derek never figured out how Kate was able to enter the house and line the door to the basement with mountain ash or if she had a human accomplish with her. Derek didn’t know how it was possible that neither he nor Laura could smell them or hear their heartbeats. Whatever she did to achieve such stealth burnt away in the all-consuming fire. He had looked Kate in the eye when they met his before her strength gave away and she had let the door close on her. Before that, she had smiled, a crazed twist of her mouth that told him what he needed to know; what she wanted him to know.

Now she was standing over him once again, touching him like she used to do all those years ago and Derek knows he has to say it out loud for he needs the verbal confirmation.

“You are real!” He chokes out.

“I told you cannot run from me.” Kate chuckles and kisses his cheek. “I had you trained, did I not? I trained you so well. How can I let it go to waste.”

“No.”

Kate straightens up. “I don’t remember ever teaching you that.”

“This is something I have picked up myself.” Derek forces down the fear clogging his mind and meets her eyes. Defiant.

Kate breaks into a smile again. “Oh Derek, Derek, Derek...what would I do with you? You don’t even remember the rules.”

“I remember them just fine,” Derek manages to grit out.

“Why do you have your clothes on, then? Come on. Get the hell up and strip. And tell me what should I begin with. It’s been a long time. I should give you this much choice at least.”

The urge to escape or to lash out is so strong that Derek digs his claws into the heels of his palms, grounding himself.

_Give me a good show!_

He remembers somebody saying and it is important, somehow. More important than his life, his dignity, his sanity and his entire fucking existence.

He stands up and starts taking off his shirt, not before turning his back on Kate though. A pair of hands are on him, but he shoves them away, surprised and panicked. Kate had never helped him undress or let him turn round. She loved to sit on the couch with her legs crossed and watch. Sometimes make him take his clothes off agonizingly slow, so that she could see him squirm and blush under her heavy gaze. Somehow it seemed all the more humiliating as he just stood there, in his skin, under the harsh light, not able to cover himself as her eyes raked over every inch of his body. He felt too big or too small for his skin like he didn’t quite fit it. 

“Derek...”

Derek shakes his head. Kate’s voice should not be this much uncertain and timid. His mind is playing tricks on him again. It shouldn’t sound so masculine either.

“Please...”

If his hands stop shaking for one damn minute he can unbutton his bloody shirt. Derek growls in frustration, knowing it will probably make Kate angry. But she seems to be in a forgiving mood tonight because she doesn’t comment on it.

“I...I can’t do this, Derek...fuck, I can’t!”

Derek’s hands still as a flicker of something starts coming to life at the very edge of his consciousness.

“See that remote control in my dad’s hand?” Kate purrs right into his ear. “That’s right, look at that laptop open on the table over there...and before you ask, yeah, he can see us. You see the webcam is on?”

Gerard Argent chuckles at him from the screen and taps his wristwatch.

“Der–”

“Stop it.” Derek claps his hands over his ears and screams. If his nightmare and his reality keep on merging together he cannot go through it. “Stop it and do as I say.”

“I can’t.”

Derek drops to his knees in front of Stiles and lowers his eyes to the ground, clasping his wrist behind his back.

“Start with the blade. Write your name on my back with it. Your full name. Then, the whip. A hundred strokes would do. Kate used to make me count, though I might not be able to use my voice after the first fifty. Then, the belt. Kate would use it on my stomach and across my chest. The iron rod is in the fireplace. It’s not hot enough, yet. Save it for the last.”

“Derek...”

“If you want to put on a real good show, light up a cigarette and singe me. Kate used to do that between petting me or riding me or jerking me off. Or sometimes she would ask me to place my hand on the floor and she would crush my fingers with the heels of her shoes.”

“No.”

“If I scream, ignore me. If it gets too much for you, gag me. If I am unconscious, pour a bucket of water on me and then start again.”

Stiles collapses on him, covering his body with his, hiding his face in his clammy neck. He is trembling like a leaf, but for a change, Derek is still, his back taut and his eyes completely dry.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, Derek...please don’t make me...no matter what...I can’t...” Stiles sobs into him until his voice is hoarse. Derek waits for him to put himself together, but he clings to Derek and weeps like a broken thing.

Derek...Derek just needs to turn and bury his nose in Stiles’ hair and block the entire world. He can open his arms wide and take Stiles in, clinging to him and to the last vestige of goodness and sanity that is left in his world. He is nearly bursting at the seams from the greed for it. For one last stolen kiss before all go up in flames. But he knows if he does that, he would never be able to let go.

So, he sits still, without taking his eyes off the floor. He lets Stiles cry. He may be too numb to cry afterward. Afterward, he will become like Derek. Too damaged to remember how to cry. Now, though Stiles has this much luxury at least and Derek will not take it from him, even when he knows Gerard’s patience is running thin. 

It may be two minutes or two hours that Stiles finally pulls away from Derek’s completely unresponsive body. He can see in his peripheral vision the heartbreak on Stiles’ face.

“I am sorry,” Stiles whispers, averting his eyes.

Derek is sorry too. He doesn’t move or blink to acknowledge Stiles in any way. He can’t. If he moves a single muscle now, they will be used to throw himself in Stiles’ arms or propel himself out of the hotel window. But neither of these will save his friends.

So, he sits still and waits.

Stiles starts with the blade.

...

Derek can't really see the muzzle of Chris Argent’s handgun pressed against the back of Gerard’s head. Derek can't bring himself look at the laptop screen, but he can hear Stiles exhaling a quiet “thank God.”

He can hear Stiles collapse in front of him with a hushed "Derek, it's over. They have got the bastard."

Then, John Stilinski's voice comes through the speaker, clear and authoritative.

“You are surrounded, Gerard. Place the remote on the table in front of you. Slowly.”

There is a sound of scuffling and Derek desperately wants to lift his eyes from the floor, to see if the little red button is finally out of Gerard’s reach. He wants to shake out of this...apathy, for the lack of a better expression...but he can’t bring himself to do it.

"Derek, please look at me," Stiles is begging him.

Derek expects the cold misery, the thick scent of guilt hanging heavy in the air but he is not prepared for the complete meltdown at the sound of the gunshot coming from the computer screen. Then, he is only vaguely aware that it is a meltdown and not something else. The shaking has been almost constant for the last half an hour and he can barely hold himself together in his skin. Now, he can distantly feel himself sobbing, finally, begging to let him be and that he will do anything and to make it stop. He flinches violently as hands fall on him, somebody kneels down and touches his face. He scrambles away to the corner, trying to hide from this all. This terrible knowledge. From the very memory of it. But he can only do this much that he can cry himself hoarse and he cannot even feel the tears that fall down his cheek because he is busy in hiccupping out the words like ‘please’ and ‘don’t’ again and again and again. Like a chant.

“Stiles...why is Derek...are you guys OK?”

“No, dad...he is definitely _not_ OK. Have you secured the remote though? Is he really dead?”

After a pause, “Yeah. There is no pulse. Thanks for the backup Chris. I never thought you would be able to go through it.”

“That’s my daughter on that plane, sheriff.” After a beat, “Good God, Stiles, what happened over there? Where does all those blood come from?”

Stiles bolts and Derek can hear him retching in the bathroom.

Underneath his sometimes near-comical though perfectly earnest alpha posturing and his fierce need to provide and protect, and the steel veneer of courage that borders on insanity – Stiles is fragile.

Derek knew this. And he still broke him the worst way he possibly could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


	31. Chapter 31

There is this wrongness, spreading under his skin. Stretched thin and pounded into the bones.

Derek feels wrong.

There are hands and kind words, from a choked out voice damp with tears.

Wrong.

There is a blanket wrapped around Derek, soft and warm and smelling of a generic detergent and other people. He pushes it away from his skin because it burns. Then he sobs softly into his hands, missing his grandmom’s quilt that has been his favourite. It hid all his fears and made him feel safe. He sobs and he can hear an echo from the other end of the room. Somebody cries right along with him, saying his name over and over like a prayer.

Wrong.

There is a scent. It holds so much guilt that Derek forgets his own. There is a scent of the heart breaking into pieces. There is a scent of despair of how many times can a man die and then think about rising up from the ashes again. There is this scent that lets him know he is not alone in this darkness. He is supposed to be alone.

Wrong.

He rises to his feet when he can. Eventually. Shakily. He shuffles to the bathroom, stands under the ice-cold spray of water as he shivers away and that other person, that heavy presence he cannot ignore won’t let him be. He shouts and pounds on the door and breaks it down and he screams at Derek, face blotchy and furious. He shoves Derek aside and fills the bath with warm water. He guides Derek, manhandles him into it and he cleans him up. His hands are so gentle on his skin and he is still crying. It is like he doesn’t know how to stop.

So wrong.

 

They are both breaking. At least they are breaking together.


	32. Chapter 32

The soft knocking wakes him up.

“Derek, they are here,” Cora whispers.

Derek lifts his head from the pillow and listens. Then, he glances around the hotel room feeling panicked and disoriented until he remembers this is the one where they originally checked in. He vaguely remembers the other hotel, the seedy one where...well, he doesn't let his mind linger over the details. But he remembers the police arriving and trying to take him to the hospital or him screaming bloody murder until a stone-faced Lydia shoved them away and stared down the Captain of IID flown in from Budapest to salvage the huge fiasco in the form of the worst security breach in the history of the UFS. Derek sat quietly on the bed the entire time with his knees drawn to his chest, staring vacantly ahead through it all until Lydia had placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Time to go, Der.”

It had made him flinch violently and shrink away from her before realising who it was and Lydia, perfect, stunning, terrifyingly beautiful, always-put-together Lydia looked like she was ready to lock herself in a room and cry. Derek then let Stiles and Lydia guide him gently and wordlessly out of the room.

It was only when the car took a turn towards the airport that the haze lifted, somewhat.

“Where are we going?” he asked dully to no one in particular. His throat was still a bit raw, but nothing that he couldn’t handle.

“Home,” Stiles replied woodenly from the front passenger seat. “Cora will bring up our luggage.”

“No, no, turn back please,” Derek pleaded.

“Der...”

“I...I cannot let Gerard win.”

Stiles and Lydia exchanged a worried glance at that but then they nodded in unison.

Upon returning, Derek went straight to his room, falling into a dreamless sleep soon afterward.

He picks up his phone from the bedside table which reads 1.30 PM. He tries to shake off the feeling how the reality appears slightly off like he is just a witness to the drama from the outside. He digs the heels of his palm into his eye-sockets, counting to ten. He cannot give in to it. He cannot afford to become insane when he has been _this_ close to find his footing. People are depending on him.

They are still squabbling outside his room and Cora is waiting for his permission. Cora who sounded so hesitant earlier when she knocked.

Derek felt like crying, instead, he braces himself and calls out, “You can come in.”

There is only a moment’s hesitation before they tumble in. It is difficult to pick out which one is his pack, and which one is Stiles’ because nearly all of them had the same look of worry etched into their faces and they all reek of guilt. The last detail shocks Derek and without pausing to think he opens his arms in clear invitation. Cora immediately curls into him, mumbling ‘I am sorry’ into his shirt.

“Cora,” he puts his arms around her. “No. Why are you sorry?”

“Because I failed you again,” Cora sobs against his chest. “I swore to myself that I won’t let you get hurt again but I...I...”

“Hey, remind me again who is the big brother here?” Derek rubs her back soothingly. “Shh...don’t cry. Everything is healed. I am...”

“If you say you are fine, I am going to strangle you to death myself,” Lydia threatens, settling down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“We let you out of sight for one day...” Isaac shakes her head.

“Well, I am never going to let you out of sight from now on.” Malia climbs into the bed and settles with her head on Derek’s lap. “I am going to be your...” she scrunches her nose, “body...um...bodyguard. Is that the word?”

“Derek doesn’t need a bodyguard,” Liam says indignantly. “He is the one who saved our lives.”

“And who is going to save him, huh?” Malia snarls.

“We will save him,” Kira pats Malia’s leg consolingly. “We will save each other. All of us will take care of each other. OK?”

“Speaking of taking care of each other, I am starving,” Isaac pops up on the other side of Derek. “Can somebody order some food?”

“I want sushi,” Lydia chirps immediately. “Real sushi.”

“I am craving pizza,” Isaac puts his hand in the air like he is in a classroom.

“Meatlovers',” Scott agrees and high-fives with Isaac when all the girls roll their eyes in unison. “Derek, do you wanna eat something?”

“No, thanks,” Derek tries to smile. It probably looks brittle. “But I won’t mind some soda.”

“What about ice-cream?” Lydia suggests.

“Maybe,” Derek doesn’t know how his body will react at the sight of food, but he appreciates that his friends are not handling him with kid gloves.

He is so done with feeling fragile.

Lydia hums. “Sushis, pizzas, ice-cream, anything else?”

“Deer,” Malia says, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“Does she mean raw?” Liam who is pressed on the other side of Lydia looks absolutely horrified.

“I think she does,” Mason pats Liam on the back and looks amused when he gags. “OK, tough guy, don’t puke on Lydia. She will gut you and then make you eat your intestines.”

“I don’t think they have that topping, Malia,” Scott says gently. “Why don’t you try mushroom and olives instead?”

Both the packs have piled into the bed and the rest have drawn the couches closer like they instinctively want to be close to each other. It should be crowded and Derek should feel suffocated. But all he can feel is this utter relief. He looks into each face and tries to imagine what he would have done if Gerard had pressed the button. Each time he reaches the same conclusion. It involves a tall building and an access to the roof. There is no doubt about it. There is no argument about suicide being a coward’s way or that it is deeply wrong. He simply knows there would have been no will to go on, even with Stiles by his side, because you don’t lose your family twice and remain sane. 

“Where is Stiles?” Derek suddenly asks.

“He...ah...he didn’t know if you would want to...” Scott says, looking uncomfortable.

Derek sighs. He wants to ask Scott if he is kidding, but thinks better of it.

“Just call him,” he says tiredly. “I need to talk to him.”

“You and talking?” Scott looks appropriately bug-eyed. “Are you a pod person?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Isaac stands up and flicks his ear. “I better go and find the idiot.”

‘The idiot’ comes in soon enough or more like dragged in by a mulish-looking Isaac, but he refuses to sit down anywhere near Derek.

Derek eyes him for some time and then asks, hesitantly, “Are you OK?”

“Am _I_ OK?” Stiles grabs strands of his hair and Derek is afraid he is going to pull them out in chunks. “Am I OK...he asks...” he laughs, slightly hysterical and just short of manic.

Everybody hushes down and looks at him.

“Stiles,” Scott says cautiously.

“Nope, sorry. Stiles is not here. There is nobody home. There is nothing to...I can’t even...God...”

Derek untangles himself and climbs down the bed.

“I nearly killed you Derek, I ki-fucking I can’t breathe from the fact what you went through with Kate and for how many months? And then they had the audacity to blame you for the fire when the person who tortured you for days was deemed to be a victim? How can you...how could you even go on? Why didn’t you punch me in the face when I tried to court you? How could you even stand to be near me, an alpha like...like...and just like her I hurt you. Just like Kate...I...”

Derek punches him in the face.

Stiles staggers back in shock and pain, holding his jaw with both hands. Derek has broken the thing most probably because he hasn’t held back. He stamps down the urge to reach out and take Stiles’ pain, because he knows Stiles needs it.

“Is it enough or you want more?” he arches an eyebrow.

“Derek,” Scott says hesitantly.

“Scott, no.” Lydia stands up and looks around. “Guys. Scram.”

“But...”

“You too, Malia,” Lydia grabs her by the hand, hauling her up from the bed. “Give them some privacy.”

Derek can feel everybody leaving the room, one by one, closing the door behind them softly. He knows objectively he should be terrified of that sound and it should trigger something in him. He knows he should shy away from being alone with Stiles in a closed room again. He can almost taste the desperation on the tip of his tongue, can hear the whispering in his ears.

Run and hide. Run and hide. Run and hide...

So he plants his bare feet on the soft carpet and digs his heels deep and meets Stiles’ wide eyes.

He will _not_ let Gerard take this away from him.

“I can beat you up right now,” he says evenly, crossing his arms across his chest. “And I know you will not lift a finger to stop me.”

Stiles lowers his eyes to the ground and nods.

“Yes to the beating then?” Derek ducks down to meet his eyes, but Stiles averts his gaze. “Look at me, Stiles.”

“I am sorry,” Stiles says miserably, hunching down on himself. “I am so sorry, Der...I am...you can do whatever you want to make you feel good. Beat me, strangle me, kill me...I wouldn’t mind. Just...I just want _you_ to stop hurting.”

Amazingly enough, that makes Derek smile. He is not sure how he remembers to do it correctly, but there it is. He reaches out and Stiles shrinks away from him. Derek ignores the gesture and advances on his again. He knows Stiles is not scared of Derek hurting him, but it is the other way round. He pushes down the voice crying ‘alpha, hurt, pain, blood’ and grabs hold of Stiles’ hand whose entire body jolts. He is still mumbling apologies when Derek drags him to the couch and makes him sit. He sinks to the ground in front of him without letting go and laces their fingers together.

“Do you seriously believe I can do either of that?” he asks solemnly, looking into the whiskey eyes that look down at him fearfully.

“Why not?” Stiles’ voice breaks. “I would rather be dead than you go through another trauma or to see you knelt on the ground like that with your eyes vacant...”

“Do I look like I am in trauma?” Derek asks gently. “Are my eyes vacant now?”

Stiles looks over at him, kneeling down once again in front of him, but Derek knows his eyes are alive. He is not feeling numb or dazed over anymore. He is alive and he has come through it all, both of them, if a bit worse for wear, if not quite unscathed, so what? Life is not a cakewalk.

“I understand now,” Stiles says quietly, squeezing his hands. “I would have felt absolutely no hesitation to pull that trigger myself or feel any remorse afterward.”

“Stiles...”

“No, just let me say this.” Stiles looks like he is trying very hard to gather his thoughts.

Derek stays quiet, knowing how Stiles is groping for the right words. He is so careful around Derek and it hurts. He has never been the one to mince his words. Stiles is never meant to be diplomatic. He is meant to brutally honest. But now...

“I thought I was going to kill you,” Stiles whispers, staring at their joined hands. “I was so sure of it. Each time I slowed down Gerard would fondle the remote and ask me to get a move on. And then you became quiet. You wouldn’t even scream and that was the time I nearly...I thought about telling Gerard to go fuck himself and press the damn button of his because I was...I couldn’t go on. I am...I am so incredibly selfish that I was nearly ready to trade everybody's life for yours.”

“But you did go on. You did what you had to do. You were...you saved us all, Stiles. Do you realise that? By buying us time,” Derek soothes.

“And nearly killed you in the process.”

“It’s OK, Stiles. I told you I could take it.”

“But that is the thing, Derek,” Stiles chokes out. “You didn’t have to revisit that nightmare. You didn’t have to be the fucking martyr again, but he left you with no choice. He...I would have gladly killed him. Ripped him apart with my teeth and claws.”

Stiles looks into his eyes.

“I know it now. And I have been an ass to you for a long time, but I understand. I still want to raise him from the dead and kill him again. I don’t know if it is wrong. I don’t care if it is wrong. I want to feel his blood in my hand as I felt yours. I want him to suffer like you did. I want to make him scream and beg for mercy. I want to throw his severed head at your feet, Derek. If it makes me a fucking psycho, so be it.”

“It doesn’t make you a psycho,” Derek whispers back. “It makes you human.”

“But it still doesn’t make everything right.” Stiles lifts his hand and brushes Derek’s cheek with his fingertips, slowly, like he is giving Derek plenty of time to back away.

Derek doesn’t.

“You can front with everybody else, but not me.” Stiles smiles wanly. “I know you are trying your damdest to not run away from this room, to get away from me, specifically.”

Derek closes his eyes because he is absolutely right. While heat blooms along the path Stiles’ fingers trace a pattern on his skin and one half of his heart wants to push into it, to nuzzle into his palm, to kiss the hurt away from that face, the other half is screaming at him to get as far away as possible. Derek doesn’t know when the other half will be strong enough to wrench him away from Stiles, probably at the worst possible moment.

“Half truth,” he murmurs, holding Stiles’ gaze because lying is pointless now. There have been too many walls broken down between them, even the walls that were not meant to be broken, that it’s ridiculous to even think of hiding. “But I am tired of being scared,” he adds because Stiles has started to pull away, worried for him. And amidst everything that is what Derek holds on to.

So he makes his body move, fighting back every instinct to coil tight into a ball and forget that there might be a happiness at some corner in the world that might have been his, to turn his back on that happiness because he cannot go on anymore.

He _can_ and he _will_.

He owes it to himself at least this much that he will try or at least die trying.

He makes himself move past every inhibition and every flash of memories and every Jennifer and Kate whom he probably still can see in his periphery if he looks closely enough, specters from his past who will never be truly gone. He surges up locking his eyes with Stiles so that he understands the full implication and can stop Derek if he wants because trauma goes both ways. He lifts his hand and Stiles doesn’t flinch this time. He looks on with wide eyes like he is hypnotized. Derek pushes his hair away from his forehead, gently, tenderly. Stiles has a frown between his eyes and Derek knows he is trying to listen but not with his ears. Stiles’ cheeks are damp with tears and Derek swipes his thumb across the cheekbones, in a slow caress. Stiles is still transfixed, his hands clutching Derek’s right hand in his lap like a lifeline, like an anchor.

That is the thing, right? Derek swallows. This is what it’s all about. Finding an anchor, finding your true home; something that is constant in this whirlwind of a life; the one true thing that you can hold onto. Your very own Northern Star.

This is why people fall and they rise up again and dust their jeans and go on. This is the answer to all the questions, this is the ultimate piece of the puzzle, this is the destiny towards which we all walk hoping someday we will reach this elusive land where there is no more hurt, no more emptiness. Isn’t it because it is a constant? Fire cannot burn it and a river cannot drown it and darkness cannot swallow it and time cannot destroy it and death cannot touch it.

Love.

Derek had said it too soon. He didn’t know half of what it meant when he uttered the word in that log cabin. Because love not only means being want to be with somebody, to make love to and to be held tenderly in sleepless nights. Love is more than a sense of belonging.

So much more.

So, Derek says it again, leaning forward and writes a love-song on those lips with his lips, drawing a pattern of want and affection by little nibbling kisses on the earlobe, and then when the alpha bares his throat to the omega, the latter just sighs and kisses open-mouthed on the exposed flesh and down and down in the hollow of that throat and the inside of those wrists and the chest, where his heart beats in a wild rhythm, feels how his breathing hitches as fresh tears trickle down the pale cheeks.

“Don’t cry, please,” Derek begs his love, kissing his eyelids, his button nose, the cupid’s bow over the lips. “It breaks my heart.”

Stiles makes a noise, it is half wounded and half growl and buries his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek envelops him, rocks him and shushes him like a child.

This is his heart he has in his arms.

“I love you, Derek,” Stiles says from his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Why are you so sad then?”

“Apart from the fact that I couldn’t protect you and got you hurt you mean?” Stiles asks fiercely.

Derek sighs, pulling away, “Not that again.”

“I just...don’t know how to get past that,” Stiles shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know how to stop myself from backing away from you each time you try to reach out in fear of hurting you again. And I know there is a long time before we are OK.”

“We will probably never be completely OK,” Derek agrees.

Stiles throws him a half-hearted glare. “The word 'optimism' is just not in your vocabulary, isn’t it?”

“It’s the reality, Stiles,” Derek starts to stand up, but Stiles clutches his shirt.

“Don’t go,” he says, eyes desperate and searching. “Yet.”

Derek settles down on the couch beside Stiles.

“I am not going anywhere right now,” he says gently. “But I don’t know about tomorrow. I may wake up from a nightmare and may shy away from your touch. I can have a breakdown in the middle of a conversation. I can have a flashback and hit you, thinking you are...”

“I will wait, then,” Stiles whispers back. “I will wait until we are sure. Just give me the permission to wait.”

“Stiles, you may have to wait forever," Derek says gently and he knows his eyes are full of sorrow, but it needs to be said. Stiles deserves nothing less than the truth however brutal it is. "And even then, even by some miracle we overcome the PTSD and the flashbacks and nightmares, we are quite capable of driving each other mad. We don’t really have what they call compatible personalities.”

“But you love me,” Stiles says plaintively.

Derek looks at him and says it again, this time like a promise, not a declaration. “I do,” he smiles wanly. “I do love you.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Stiles asks. He looks so impossibly hopeful.

“No, it’s not." When Stiles' face falls Derek cannot help adding, "But we can keep trying if you want.” And that is the right answer because Stiles’ eyes light up at that, making Derek's heart skip. Even if it turns out to be false hope, even if tomorrow finds him receding into his shell, Derek will let themselves have this much.

“Stiles, what time was my speech scheduled?” Derek suddenly asks.

Stiles looks lost for one moment before hitting his forehead, “Oh God, it was scheduled nearly an hour ago. I didn't want to wake you up.” Then he has that determined look in his eyes that Derek is very much acquainted with. “If you want to give your speech, I will make them open up a slot or I am raising hell.”

Derek has no doubt he is perfectly capable of doing that.

“OK,” he breathes out. “I have the speech ready. I mean I have it memorised even, but I thought I would get more time to practice. I wanted to listen to other speakers and what if they have already said whatever is there worth saying and what if I look like a complete fool over there. But I have to make that speech. The pack has been looking forward to it. I really...”

Stiles places his hands on his cheeks and kisses him to stop the rambling. Just a chaste peck.

“Der. Breathe,” he says. “You are going to be fine. I will call in Lydia because you cannot give a speech in sweatpants.” Then he adds more seriously, “You are not doing it only because of the pack, right? It is something _you_ want, right?”

Derek considers the question before answering. If he is completely truthful, he wants nothing but to go home and hide in his room and never emerge from there or probably binge bake enough cupcakes to feed the entire population of Beacon Hills. But he won’t do it. He has told Lydia and Stiles that he would not let Gerard Argent win.

"Lydia says I have been given an opportunity of a lifetime," Derek says. "I have to make good of it or I will never forgive myself."

Stiles nods solemnly. "Raising hell, then."

Derek cannot help the fond laughter bubbling up in his chest then. He kisses Stiles on the cheek. "I trust you."

...

Ultimately, there was no need for whatever disruption Stiles has been planning upon (much to his disappointment). Derek is told people are eager to hear his life story and that he can schedule himself in whatever time he is comfortable with, which is now, thank you very much. Mark and Jasmine and every person he has encountered so far during the brief time he has interacted with various shifters, a few Member-Councillor of UFS among them, have reiterated it.

The only problem is, right now, standing at the podium under the harsh spotlight, Derek looks upon the expectant faces staring back at him and he freezes. The anchor has introduced him as the sole survivor of one of the oldest bloodline in the werewolf world and an inspiration to the new generation of shifters. Derek still doesn’t see how he can be an inspiration while he has been floundering around, trying to keep his head above the tide in order to survive with his dignity intact. He wanted to tell the stories of his life, share them with others, not because he wanted their pity or their respect, but he wanted people to form their opinion on what is right, what ethical choices make a person different from the other. It would be hard, because it makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, to open his heart like that. But he has already done it, hasn’t he? Has opened up his heart and his home and taken in the strays that have won him over with unconditional love and unwavering loyalty. Or it has probably been the other way round. He was the stray that has been taken in, being smothered in affection until he has given in. And those people are now looking up at him, urging him on mutely because they know he needs it. They know he knows how millions of people all across the world who are still suffering from an unjust system need someone to speak on behalf of all of them.

He cannot afford to be afraid anymore, to be the proverbial ostrich that will bury its head in the sand and let the storm pass over like a coward, but the speech that he prepared so carefully doesn’t seem relevant now.

Derek takes a deep breath and makes himself speak.

 

“I want a lot of things, the world peace, for one. But I understand, there is a chasm between wanting something and the possibility of it happening in the real life. My mom once told me to be a grown-up means you don’t always get what you wish for and you have to compromise, but she also told me, I was always free to dream, even for the impossible. That it is through dreams that the world changes. Bit by bit. That if we don't dream we will get stuck in time, never progress beyond what we have achieved so far.

So, I always dreamt that someday the rest of the world will understand that I am not somebody to be coddled or put up in an ivory tower and protected from the evil elements or kept hidden just because the society cannot bring itself to undergo a change that will ensure that I feel safe, all the time. I dreamt that someday the society will stop seeing me as ‘the other’ and treat me as one of their own, one of their to protect, to nurture and not just simply assume things about me and treat me like I am incapable of making decisions regarding my own life. Simple things like dressing as I like, walking into a club in the middle of the night without being accompanied by an alpha and have a good time, like everybody else, get sloshed with my best friends and walk down the empty streets in the early morning...making important decisions about my life as to when and how and with whom I am going to mate. I long for physical intimacy too, the bone-deep need to be close to somebody, to be loved, tenderly and without reservation, without being judged.”

Derek’s gaze skims over Stiles whose eyes are shining bright, and for once, Derek knows it’s not sorrow that has caused those tears – but pride. He has to exert a considerable amount will-force to pry his eyes away from Stiles.

“I understand these are the stuff an alpha just takes for granted and being an omega, it is frowned upon even to mention it, lest I am branded as a...slut or easy or an attention-whore. I don’t know, our society does have a tendency to come up with interesting names for people who don’t want to conform to its rules.”

Derek feels himself getting angry and he sees the anger reflected in the faces of his friends. Even more surprising is the myriad emotions displayed on the faces of his audience, most of whom are alphas. He can probably count on the fingers of his one hand the number of omegas present in this room. Because omegas are supposed to be stay-at-home moms or dads, and obviously not participate in an event like this. Here in this hall, this handful of people hold the key to the future and there are so few representatives from the omegas who will be as if not more affected by whatever policies are to be created by this organisation which is supposed to work _for_ their betterment.

This is so fucked up.

 

“I want all these and I guess it is not too much to ask or too unreasonable? It’s not like I have an underdeveloped brain or that I have less intelligence than an alpha. It’s just that, maybe, I have a different skill set and I approach a situation differently than him. What if I am more emotional, what if I prone to worry a lot, that I love to cook and take care of my pack, that I would rather curl up with a book in a lazy Sunday afternoon than roughing it up with the others. How does that make me weak? How does it even justify the fact that simply by the dint of being different, I am to be treated differently? And about being physically weaker than an alpha, are we really living in the Stone Age? If you want to determine a person’s superiority by their physical strength, then you better deem the Neandarthal man to be the most superior of all.

“That will be all for today. I am sorry, if what I said has offended anybody because it was not my intention.” After a pause, Derek adds, “Wait, that is not quite true. I am not sorry. This state of the affairs needs to change and this is the truth. If you are uncomfortable with it, well, tough, because the world is changing in front of your eyes. If you can’t go with the flow, you will be the one left behind."

Derek exhales. "Thank you for providing me with this platform to voice my opinion, which I am sure is shared by many. Good day.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew!
> 
> So, the journey ends here. Finally. But in a way, it goes on because life goes on and it is never still like a picture in a photo-frame.  
> As always, feel free to spoil me with your lovely comments. If you want to check out my original works, please do visit my website the link to which is given in the footnote section.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me. Please read my other stories too if you like this one. Once again guys, you are my inspiration and I don't know what I would do if you stop indulging me :)

_The Annual General Meeting of the United Front of Shape-shifters held at Sheraton Miyako, Tokyo on 3rd November_ , _2013 was historical in many aspects:_

  * _The second time in the history of the UFS an omega was elected unanimously to be a Member-Councillor, representing the entire shape-shifting community in the USA. Derek Hale who is originally from Beacon Hills will be relocating to San José briefly to take charges from the current Member-Councillor Satomi Ito who is retiring from the public office after serving the UFS for more than fifty glorious years._
  * _A bill was passed completely revamping the laws and regulations regarding ‘mating’ and the archaic custom that lets an alpha claim a mate by a mating bite with the omega having no say over it has been completely done away with it._
  * _A proposal has been initiated which has caused uproars in the supernatural community giving the omegas the necessary rights to fight an alpha in legal ways if they want to break a mating bond._
  * _Following the attempts on the lives of Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale and their packs, the activity of the hunter community has come under scrutiny. From now on, each new hunter has to pass a psych test to evaluate their competency to do their job without being influenced by bigotry or prejudice or plain sadism. Also, each hunter family will need a liaison officer in the form of at least one shape-shifter not unlike an emissary in a wolf pack who will maintain the balance and act as a bridge between the hunter and the supernatural._



_Finally, Derek Hale has been lauded for his efforts to draw attention to the dismal condition of the omegas and the shameful way they have been treated by the society at large, bringing a rare change of heart of the Council which predominantly consists of alphas._

_The changes that we see now are all thanks to this single man and it is through his suffering that we get a chance of rising above our station and do something worthwhile with our lives._

_So, ladies and gentlemen, I know you will all agree with me wh–_

 

“Derek!” Stiles protests as Derek yanks his headphone out of his ears and shoves them into his own pocket.

“You have listened to that crap enough times to have it memorised by now,” Derek mock-growls at him. “Besides, the plane is about to land.”

Stiles pouts. “One would think a two-week vacation would make you less grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy,” Derek counters. “Just incredibly cranky from all those ‘last-minute-shopping-trips’ Lydia and Erica dragged me to, sick and tired of Malia and Liam bickering all the time with Mason egging them on, Isaac making me go cross-eyed with his new, dreadful scarves and you running your mouth with the history and geography of each new place we visited.”

“You never mentioned Kira.”

“Because Kira is my favourite.”

“Derek Hale, you take that back,” Lydia kicks his seat from behind with her stiletto and Derek is thankful for the barrier between the two.

“I love you too, Lydia,” he huffs.

“And what about me?” Stiles demands.

“What about you?” Derek smirks. “Put on your seatbelt, idiot.”

Stiles fumbles with the buckle, grateful for having a chance to hide his face.

Derek heaves a put upon sigh and swats his hands away. Then he is leaning down and is fastening the seatbelt for him.

“Theo called, just before our plane took off,” Derek remarks casually, straightening up.

“What did he say?” Stiles is immediately wary. Not that Theo would try anything with Derek, but Stiles doesn’t quite trust him. He had fought an internal war that had lasted exactly five minutes when he had decided to approach Theo about Malia. He knew Theo was the best person for the job and Theo would never dare to betray him. If he was not so sure, he wouldn’t have let him come anywhere near Derek or his pack.

Still, the way Derek paled and clutched the phone tightly, Stiles knew something was awry. But of course Derek being Derek, he brushed Stiles off when he had asked what was wrong. And Stiles has learned to be patient with Derek. He knows he needs to give Derek space, to let him do things in his own time. He understands only too well now why control is so important to Derek.

Derek sighs and looks at him. “Peter is Malia’s biological father,” he keeps his voice down, though nearly everybody around them is either asleep or has their headphones on.

Stiles blinks. The embossed picture of San Francisco down below, just beyond the haze of cloud holds less interest to him than the churning emotions behind Derek’s green-hazel-silver irises.

“Peter...as in...”

“Our uncle Peter. The one who went crazy and killed Laura. The one who is at the Eichen House now. Completely catatonic,” Derek says.

His voice doesn’t shake, but Stiles knows Derek better than that. Has learnt the hard way how Derek functions. So, he reaches out and places a hand on Derek’s. The latter immediately entwines their fingers.

“That is...good news, right?” Stiles ventures. “It means she is your sister.”

Derek looks up from his lap and smiles. Stiles will one day have a heart attack just from the beauty of it.

“I guess.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Stiles asks.

“I want to,” Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand. “God, I want to. Though she is not going to be thrilled about it. Probably,” he grimaces. “I took her to the Eichen House once to meet Peter. She knows all about him. Maybe...maybe she will be able to forgive him...for abandoning her. For he must have done that, otherwise, how did she end up with human parents?”

“She will forgive him because she is your sister,” Stiles squeezes back, reassuring. “You have a tendency to forgive people easily.”

“Stiles...”

“You do, Der. You forgave Chris and Allison. You forgave Scott for majorly misunderstanding you. You have forgiven me so many times that I have lost count, even when I acted irredeemably. And you forgave your uncle long ago. Didn’t you?” he chuckles. “Under that badass exterior, that scowl you sport all the time, the way you try to shove people away – you have an incredible heart that knows nothing but love. Doesn’t it?”

Derek...Derek is looking at him with wonder. It’s like he is seeing Stiles for the first time.

And that is the key, Stiles thinks, to begin anew. He cannot say he is too tired for this. Because of that face that is staring at him with open adoration. He cannot say he cannot do this anymore. He will have to try, even though it will be more difficult than ever, what with the two-hundred-mile distance between the two. Derek had fought tooth and nail when he had teamed up with Lydia to convince Derek to take up the offer to become the new Member-Councillor, but had given in finally. Because Derek has never learnt to put himself before the needs of the others. And Derek should have hated him for it, for making him take the toughest decision of his life, but by some miracle, he doesn’t.

So Stiles asks, soft and gentle, “Let us start again from the scratch, shall we?”  

Derek tilts his head and breaks into a smile again. The slanting sun rays beating down the tiny window makes his face glow.

“I am Stiles,” he extends his hand, grinning. “And you are an angel. Surely.”

Derek takes his hand and shakes it, laughing under the breath. “You are right. Derek the angel at your service. I am a specialist of baking my way into your heart.”

Damn, this is so corny, but Stiles loves it.

“Probably we can carry on with the rest of the meet-cute once we get off the plane because the stewardess is glaring at us right now,” Stiles smiles back.

“Oh...” Derek looks up, taking in his surrounding and blushes. “OK,” he says easily.

Stiles knows then everything is going to be alright.

 

...

 

Two people are going in two different directions from the San Francisco International Airport. They are far from alone in the car they are traveling. Their companions are raucous and loud, bickering back and forth, singing out of tune, happy to be home after a long and eventful vacation.

The two of them are staring outside, smiling occasionally at their friends’ antics. They are acutely aware of the distance creeping up steadily between them; the physical distance that is.

“I love you,” one of them says, eyes chasing the sun dipping beyond the horizon. “I will love you until the end of time.”

The other one’s lips go up in the corner the way only _he_ can make it.

“I know,” he says and closes his eyes, feeling the parting rays of the sun caress his golden skin, like the touch of a gentle lover. “And I will love you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


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